


166 Hours

by letbygones



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bars and Pubs, Crime, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Forced Bonding, Galo not understanding how relationships work, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Oral Sex, Other, Panic Attacks, Politics, Polyamory, Save The Goodburger, Threesome - M/M/Other, Trans Galo Thymos, Trans Lio Fotia, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22873450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letbygones/pseuds/letbygones
Summary: He's not a business owner, a felon, or one of Lio's partners. He's a firefighter, a political aide, and, well. Just a guy who walked into a bar.... And all thirty-two motorcycles parked outside of it.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos, Lio Fotia/Gueira/Meis
Comments: 96
Kudos: 198





	1. Hired

Galo Thymos looks hot as _hell_ in tight jeans and a bomber jacket, but when he drags a hand down his face so hard his eyelids droop, Aina just can't see the appeal anymore. She's got him on Facetime, trying to talk him through all his yelling and panic— until he pivots his camera toward the row of motorcycles he's just knocked over. 

"... Yikes," is all she can manage, before Galo shakes the screen.

"YEAH, _BIG YIKES_ , AINA," he huffs, yanking a hand through his perfectly spiked hair. "Thyma's supposed to meet me in five, and there's like, thirty metal dominos on the ground now, and I'm probably going to die here—"

"You aren't going to die, Galo."

"I'm GOING TO DIE," he reiterates, panning the camera over the last bike in the row— the one taking the weight of every bike preceding it. Unfortunately, it's a big, beautiful chopper, all dark metal and flawless leather, and it's crumpled over in an oily pool on the ground.

Aina takes a second to squint at her screen. Then, she breathes in, looks Galo in the eye, and reassures him:

"You lived your life to the fullest, and that's all that matters."

Inside the nearest building, over the thumping bassline of a Mudhoney song, a man with a scribbly tag on his chest that reads _Gueira Lastname_ hears a blood-curdling _wail_ from the parking lot. He raises an eyebrow at his Bar-Back and reaches for the shotgun.

Galo pulls his face back out of his shirt, which did nothing to muffle his screams. " _Shit!_ I've gotta 'fess up. I can't just leave these laying here, it's not _right._ "

"I mean, yeah, I guess, but... Galo, that's an awfully expensive mistake to make," Aina warns him. "What are you gonna do, walk in there and trade insurance info with a bunch of—"

"Bunch of what?" Thyma asks, her bright face popping into view over Galo's shoulder. She's all smiles and curiosity as she waves at Aina on-screen. "Everyone inside's pretty nice, I promise."

Galo jumps— he hadn't heard her approaching. He offers her a shaky hand and tries to slick back his fallen hair, as though he hadn't just formed a one-man mosh pit. "Thyma! Hey! Hi! How's it goin'?"

She surveys the scene with an unchanging expression. They're ten feet from the bar entrance, standing on crumbled asphalt and bits of glass. The entryway floodlight buzzes innocently overhead. 

Dents: check. Mud: check. Galo's bright red Kawasaki, still-standing, still untouched: checkmate.

_How's it goin'._

"Not well, apparently?"

Galo lets his hands drop. Aina's view turns upside-down. She makes a mental note to ask Thyma where she bought her boots, because that's all she can see on-camera now.

"Not well!" he agrees. "But I can fix this, I promise. I refuse to let this ruin Late Night Date Night!"

Thyma can see the cogs turning behind all that frenetic energy. Galo crouches down by the first of the bikes, the flash of his camera going off at random, before the front door of the bar slams open and the music cuts off.

A crowd of leather jackets filters out onto the curb. They blob around the carnage, all quiet gasps and murmurs, and Galo quickly rises to his feet. He catches sight of two particularly angry men— one tall and lean, with an apron covered in grease stains, and one scrappy and sharp, with a gun in his hand.

"Suffice to say Late Night Date Night is _probably_ ruined," Aina's distant voice hums out from Galo's phone.

He ends the call.

***

Three months ago, Thyma had messaged him on Facebook. He hadn't heard from her in nearly ten years.

They'd interned together— if a summer career prep program could be called that— and though life had rocketed them in drastically different directions, they'd always share the precious memories they'd made in the Foresight Foundation's cafeteria.

They were seventeen, and Galo shared a Sprite with her. They'd dated for four days before mutually deciding that being straight sucked ass.

But to Galo's surprise and delight, she was moving back to Promepolis, and needed a friendly face. Together they'd made a schedule— _Late Night Date Night_ featured bowling alleys, movie theaters, and sticky-seats at Applebees. It'd been good, so far— it'd been _safe,_ so far— but like all good things, Galo's list of ideas eventually came to an end.

It'd been Thyma who suggested the _Slowburn_ — a divey-looking bar on the far end of South 90th Ave. She had friends there, she insisted, but Galo wasn't too sure. Google Street View framed it between an oldschool motel and the chunkiest cactus he'd ever seen. It had a big, gravelly parking lot, wood paneling, and a single neon sign over the door.

But if this was Thyma's scene, he could dig it. Sure, it was dark, scary, and probably full of people who licked steak knives. But if _anything_ or _anyone_ threatened their safety, he could take 'em! Galo Thymos wasn't _that_ easily intimidated!

That was three days ago.

"What. Is all _this,_ " the scrappy guy points, his skinny shoulders shaking with barely-contained rage. "What. The fuck. Have you _done?_ "

"Easy, man," Galo offers, his hands in the air. He stares with wide, pleading eyes. This guy has a _gun,_ for Christ's sake. "Let me explain—"

"Not much to explain," the taller man interrupts, and the ice in his voice is unmistakable. He sets a big hand on the angry guy's shoulder, but it does nothing to calm him down. He cracks his neck, never once blinking, never once breaking his stare.

So, scratch that. Galo Thymos is _intimidated,_ and Galo Thymos is going to get _massacred_.

"I—" Galo starts, before the lightbulb in his head visibly turns on. "Oh! Here! I took photos. I promise I'm going to take responsibility for all this." He holds up his phone for everyone to see, scrolling through his media gallery to prove his intentions— but it's dark out, and every picture looks the same. 

He swipes through a slideshow of eleven photos in absolute silence before Thyma gently— awkwardly— lowers his hand for him.

Nobody in the crowd speaks. Galo holds his breath, hoping he's managed to convince these guys he didn't destroy their property _on purpose,_ but then the Tall Guy finally opens his mouth.

"Thyma. He with you?"

She nods. "Yes. He's a good guy, Meis. It was an accident."

Galo's sigh of relief could crumple his lungs. "Oh, cool, you know each other! That's cool!!" _Hoooooo_. Cool.

"You think that gets you off the hook?" Angry Guy barks, wandering down the line of fallen motorcycles until he reaches the last. He gestures with the barrel of his shotgun. "Fuck, man, Boss' bike is _trashed!_ "

"Dallas ate shit too," Meis mutters, eyeing a slender bike sandwiched near the middle. "Sorry, Cici. I'll fill those dings after payday."

A woman with a shaved head shrugs in response. "Not your fault."

"Deffo not his fault! Deffo my fault," Galo says, eagerly raising his hand. "I'm serious! I'm going to make this right! I'll do whatever it takes, my bank account be damned—"

Angry Guy scruffs him by the collar of his jacket, and Galo's voice cuts off. He can see the nametag now, but he doesn't know how to pronounce _Gueira_ , or if _Lastname_ is a joke. It's written in orange highlighter and surrounded by stickers.

"You," he seethes, his wild red hair falling in front of his eyes, "Are talking to the Boss about this. Right now."

And with that, he's thrown forward into the bar, Thyma's sympathetic look offering him no reassurances.

***

Unfortunately, Galo's stuck waiting for _The Boss_ for over fifteen minutes. He's chucked down on a stool near the far end of the bar, presumably to make any escape attempts obvious and futile. There's a broken pinball machine to his left and a quiet dude to his right. He's dirty, young, and drowning in a sweatshirt that nearly covers his fingers as he writes. Galo's almost tempted to ask how he can manage doing _classwork_ in an environment like _this_. 

It's only when he steals a glance at the paperwork headings and inventory logs that Galo realizes _it isn't classwork_ — and this _isn't a student_.

Pen clacks against the hard wood of the bartop, and Galo's faced with the prettiest eyes he's ever seen on a human being.

"Thanks for your patience. Vendor order had to get done. Lio Fotia," he says, extending a slender, tattooed hand. Galo breaks his trance long enough to shake.

"Galo Thymos," he returns, remembering why he's here. Is _this_ the Boss? Is _this_ a _business owner?_

Lio's hand retreats into a fist, and he rests his cheek against it with an expectant stare.

"... So. You—"

"I'm sorry!" Galo blurts out, slapping both hands down against the bar. "I was supposed to meet a friend tonight, and I guess I was nervous about the location, and it was dark, and I wasn't paying attention to where I was leaning. Please, lemme give everybody my contact info, I—"

Lio holds up the palm of his hand, peacefully demanding the chance to speak. There's a sloppy, faded outline inked into the skin.

Galo deflates. And then he squints. 

"Is that... Michigan," he asks so quietly, Lio almost misses it.

There's a stillness in the air between them, so unlike the usual electric energy in the Slowburn— and Lio doesn't like the quiet.

"You have no filter," Lio decides. "You cause thousands of dollars in damages to my patrons, my staff, and myself. Are you _positive_ the first question you want to ask me is a personal one?"

Galo shrugs. "Don't see why not."

Lio Fotia blinks.

He has crinkles in the corners of his eyes and a tired sheet of bangs to lurk beneath. Whatever age Galo'd first pinned him for was far from correct.

Slowly, Lio slides into a smirk. He rises from his seat, stretches his graceful arms above his head, and saunters behind the bar to one of the mini fridges.

"PBR or Tecate?"

Galo takes a second to realize he's being asked a question. "Oh, uh, me? Both are chill, I guess?"

"Tecate," Lio decides for him, sliding a tallboy across the bar. Gueira's still tending the other half of the narrow space, and his stare is deadly as he passes Lio a container of limes.

Lio doesn't seem to notice, or doesn't seem to care. He pops open his own can and leans back against the alcohol cabinets, and from there, Galo can see the stains on his knees.

"It's supposed to be Michigan," Lio starts, "but it's backwards. Fucker never flipped the stencil."

Galo cautiously squeezes a lime through the opening in his pop top. "Why didn't you say anything? Before the artist drilled it into your skin forever, I mean?"

Across the room, the tall guy— Meis?— sets a plate of poutine down in front of Thyma. Lio watches fondly.

"One, palm tattoos never last. It's not forever," he tells Galo. "Two, I was drunk. It was a mistake." And with that, he raises a toast to Galo, winks, and knocks back half his beer in one go.

Galo's tight, tight pants are way too tight. He wiggles in his seat.

"Do you regret it?" he manages to ask, taking a swig to cover up the blush rising on his face.

Lio shrugs. "More or less. Regret's useless if you were never in control to begin with." He finishes off his can and crushes it against his hip. "Moral being: I can sympathize with mistakes, Galo Thymos. That's why I'm covering your tab."

Galo straightens up. "My beer?"

"Your beer. The bikes. All of it. Don't bother contacting your insurance provider, I'm positive you don't want the premium hike."

Anyone and everyone within earshot of their conversation starts to argue. _Boss, no—_ _For real, Fotia?—_

"No way! This is my mess, I'll clean it up!" Galo exclaims, announcing it to the room. He's standing before he can stop himself. "Besides, my conscience will never let me live it down, dude."

 _Let the man pay for it!_ shouts an older man with a mustache.

 _I JUST added that windshield!_ groans another.

In a flash of movement, Lio raises up his boot and clomps it down onto the bartop, loud and showy and quick enough to make Galo jump back— but it works. Everyone around them immediately shuts up.

He bends over to tie his shoelace.

"This is my bar. I'll do as I like." With a final yank, he double knots it. "And I'm not a dude. For future reference." He lets his eyelashes calmly flick up at Galo, and _god_ , he's hot, he's so _unfairly_ hot—

Over his totally normal, _unfairly hot_ shoulder, Galo catches sight of a sun-faded sticker. He knows those three colors all too well.

"Okay. No more dude-ing here, I promise," he furiously nods, trying to telepathically tell Lio he knows, he _gets it_. "But jusso y'know, 'future reference' implies... well. A future where I'm not murdered on my way back outta here."

Gueira snorts, and Lio rolls his eyes. 

"No promises. But," Lio says, dropping all pretense, "I meant what I said. If you're willing, we can find a compromise that keeps your conscience as clean as I like my walk-in freezer." His leg finds its way back down to the floor. "I'll let you work off _one_ bike's worth of damages. Like many of us here, I'm uninsured."

Again, Gueira makes a noise, but this time, Lio cuts his protest short with a single, wordless glare.

Maybe this was the mercy Galo needed. Maybe this was his last chance to prove himself as a good and honest man, full of _totally_ cool morals and _t_ _otally_ selfless motives.

Maybe he doesn't sound desperate when he immediately agrees. 

"Rad," Lio answers, before Galo realizes what he's just committed to.

"Question, though. Are we talking dish duty for a week or two, or are we talking longer than that? I've already got a full-time gig," he shrugs.

"We're talking $3,000 worth of a custom paint job I put on my bike last Thursday. I pay my employees well, so you're only looking at..." he trails, grabbing an old plastic calculator from under the register. "166.666 hours of labor."

Galo's mouth hangs open. " _Only?_ That's like, a million years!"

"And .666 of an hour. Don't skimp on me, Galo Thymos."

Lio's face is lit up with satisfaction, and Galo doesn't know how to answer. Maybe it's the beer, or maybe it's adrenaline, but he doesn't know how to tell Lio _no_.

_Does he even want to?_

"I— Um. I'm on call most of the week, though. Overnight, even!"

Lio nods, all maturity and understanding under a face that says _its okay_. But then he parts his lips, flashes a tongue piercing, and tauntingly, _disinterestedly_ sucks on a lime. "Then I expect full repayment by Monday, or I'll see you in small claims court. Or my kitchen. Whichever works best for you."

Across the room, Thyma laughs at something Meis says. There's a big, fake fish on the wall behind her, and Galo stares at it, trying to understand how he got here.

There's no way he can work with a deadline that ridiculous. Sure, he can repay him, but in three days?

He downs the rest of his beer. Slams it on the bar in front of Lio. Opens his mouth.

"I'm not a felon. I don't think I'll fit in here."

In an instant, Lio Fotia's entire demeanor changes. His mouth thins into a line, but then he cooly leans over the bar into Galo's personal bubble. He breathes against his ear long enough to draw whistles out of the crowd— Galo feels a rare spike of anger mixing down into his core, and he's _never been more turned on in his life._

He hears it whispered, low and serrated.

"I know you won't. Welcome to the team."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a genre switch from my usual short stuff, but I like making dumb jokes, so I hope it's enjoyable for different reasons. This will absolutely get explicit in future chapters, so keep an eye on the tags.
> 
> As a side note, Lio still uses he/him pronouns, but is dmab agender. Galo's one of them lucky ones who transitioned young. Hup hup HIKE


	2. 158 Hours

"You could sell weed," Lucia tells him on Sunday morning. 

She's still wearing pajama bottoms (despite clocking on an hour ago), but _decorum_ never really had a place at Station 3 to begin with.

"Isn't weed legal already?" Aina asks from the communal kitchen. Technically, her shift was over at four, but she stuck around to make waffles and eggs for the team.

"You could sell _better_ weed," Lucia counters, licking syrup off her knuckles.

"I'm not selling weed! I'm a public servant!"

"What about Herbalife? You look like an Herbalife guy," Varys shrugs.

Galo, dejectedly slumped on the couch, cranes his head back far enough to get a look at him. "The hell is Herbalife?"

"Pyramid scheme," Remi hums into his coffee.

"Is it? Shit, my cousin just joined up."

"Plasma donations pay a lot, I think?"

"Just start stripping. Pop out the top of a big cake and _flex_ —"

"Guys," Galo slaps a hand over his eyes. "You're _really_ not making me feel any better about this!"

After he'd woken up on Saturday morning to a headache and six missed calls from work, Galo began to realize that his life was a joke. Like his father, and _his_ father, and all of the fathers before him, he was a particle of dust in the grand scheme of the universe. He would live on this rock and die on this rock, and he'd spend the last of his days scrubbing mold and mustard off of every last surface in the Slowburn.

Sure, this whole fiasco was his own damn fault. He could own up to his mistakes— he certainly makes a _lot_ of them— but that didn't mean he thought it was _fair_. He already worked four days a week at the firehouse, and a fifth day at Foresight in the offices. That left him with one measly window of time to himself, and Lio Fotia was intent on taking that from him too.

"I think I hate him," Galo laughs, staring at the floor in quiet horror. Lucia pokes him with a fork, and when he doesn't respond, she announces _Galo's finally broken._

Remi's newspaper crinkles as he flips to the next page. "You should. He got out of serving Life for an arson-homicide in 2006. I'm sure you could sue him for emotional distress— considering he's refusing to let you repay him in a _normal, human being_ way."

The room quiets. Varys leans forward in his seat and quickly taps at his too-small phone screen with a stylus.

"Well damn, that him?" he asks, flashing Galo a mugshot. Sure enough, Lio's young face looks younger— and colder— as it challenges the viewer to _judge him._

"Yeah," Galo breathes. His head explodes with questions, but he doesn't know where to begin. "Arson-homicide? Are you serious?"

"Never formally convicted," Remi adds. "Sixteen. Tried as an adult. Hung jury, I think. But when you know, you know." He sips the last of his coffee and pushes back from the table.

"Wow," Aina mumbles. She wanders over to Galo, draping herself over the back of the couch next to him. "You better be careful. You don't have to do this."

But Galo's already bouncing his leg, frowning, _thinking_. He shoots up to his feet and maneuvers around the coffee table, heading back toward the truck bay. 

The sun finally starts to rise. Little squares of light awaken on the floor, and Galo steps through them with his big workman's boots. He spins around to face Aina, walking backwards, hands behind his head.

"Actually, I think I do."

***

Friday afternoon arrives— and to Gueira's surprise, so does Galo.

He slaps a twenty down on the bar mat. Meis chuckles under his breath and pockets it.

"Damn, thanks for having faith in me, guys," Galo whines, pushing past the cocktail tables by the entryway. 

"Hey, I said you'd show," Meis shrugs. He squeezes a big splurt of ranch dressing into a row of plastic dipping cups and pops a lid on each of them. His long, black hair is tied back with a scrunchie— Thyma's, Galo recognizes.

Something in his gut flares, but he pulls out a stool and takes a seat.

It's an hour before opening. Most of the chairs are still flipped up on tabletops, and Gueira's behind the bar with a checklist.

If Lio's here, he's not out front.

"Ay, big guy. You lift?" Gueira asks, without looking up from his clipboard.

"Is that a come-on?" Galo bites. He doesn't want to piss this dude off again, but he's never been one for Tone Control.

Luckily, Gueira cracks a smile. "'Course it's a come-on. Come on," he says, and gestures for Galo to follow him back to the storeroom. Meis snickers, and Galo knows when a joke's being made at his expense— but he does as he's told.

Once they round a corner, they step over a pile of boxes and shimmy behind a ladder. Galo makes a mental note to report this place for OSHA violations as soon as he earns back his freedom.

"And this—" Gueira rattles off, and _oops,_ had he been talking this entire time?— "Is the dry storage. You got yer cans of beans and stuff, domestic bottles, all that."

Galo squints to get a better look, but the single hanging lightbulb does nothing to brighten the room.

"Why are the bottles back here?" he asks.

Gueira grunts. "Where else would they go?"

"I thought you said this was dry storage," Galo says. "Beer is wet."

It's like looking in a mirror, Galo thinks, as Gueira drags a palm down the front of his face and groans.

"Okay, hot shot, first of all," Gueira starts, jabbing a finger into Galo's pec. "Boss musta thought you showed _some_ kind of promise, but my guess is you never worked a kitchen in your life."

Galo shrugs away from the touch. "Yeah, no, I didn't exactly _apply_ for this job, okay?" He steps over to the rack of bottles and grabs one from the case, brandishing it as he speaks. "I don't _need_ to be here. I don't even _want_ to be here, but I'm willing to give it my best shot, so if you got a problem with that, keep it to your _damn self— Gwe-ra Lastname_."

There's a moment of dangerous silence; the split-second before lightning strikes earth. Gueira has his knuckles clenched.

And then, he turns on his heel, and ducks back out of the room. "It's _Ge-ra_. Don't let me catch my name in your mouth ever again."

Galo's heartbeat is up in his throat, but he gently sets the beer back down on the rack. He follows Gueira through the doorway.

"So, kegs are in here. You're strong. You're carrying."

***

Lio doesn't walk in until half-past opening. His arms are full of grocery bags, but Meis glides over to help him. They set fourteen cartons of orange juice down on the counter.

"Thank you," Lio huffs, once his hands are free. "Thymos here?"

"Yup," Galo replies from the floor. He'd been handed a box of baking soda and a lump of steel wool to scrub at the floor drains.

"Good," Lio says, and walks away, like this is normal. Like being stuffed under a sink is normal.

Like being charged with a homicide is normal, and running a rotting biker bar is normal, and cornering a guy into working for you is _normal_.

Galo extricates himself from the drain and rises to his feet. "Hey!" he shouts after Lio, who'd already ducked into the back.

But there's a brief second, and Lio gracefully pops back out.

"What's up."

"That's it? You're just gonna acknowledge me and walk away?"

Lio crosses his arms over his chest. He's wearing a turtleneck today.

"Correct."

"What the fuck!" Galo shouts, all arms and motion. "What's _wrong_ with you people! I'm trying my best to do the right thing, and you're all just gonna ignore me and insult me when I don't know how to do something?"

Behind him, two of the regulars grab their drinks and move to a different table. Lio looks to Gueira and raises an eyebrow. Galo can't see half of their wordless conversation, but Lio narrows his eyes, and Gueira throws a rag down on the bar.

When Lio crosses the room, his expression softens.

"I should apologize. I should've been here earlier. What would you like me to go over with you?"

But Galo's nearing the end of his (arguably longer than average) stick. He wipes his forearms on his pants and slops off a bit of stray wet hair from the floor drain.

"None of it. I'm done. I don't care if you want to blackmail me. I feel like shit, and I'd rather pay you back today and file for bankruptcy than put up with a crappy work environment."

And with that, he shucks off his apron, and stares Lio between the eyes. He's expecting to be challenged— expecting to be punched—

But nothing happens. Johnny Cash continues to drone out from the speakers.

Lio nods.

"I'm not keeping you here. You can leave, if you'd like." He searches Galo's face for something, and those bright, pretty eyes are disarming, but honest. "I'm not blackmailing you, either."

Galo swallows. "Aren't you? Your ultimatum was 'pay me back this insane amount of money right now immediately' or 'work for me forever until you die'. That sounds like blackmail to me."

"That wasn't my intention."

"Then what _was?_ " Galo asks, his voice tired and desperate. "I heard about you, y'know. Your record. Don't you think that makes you look like the bad g— person here?"

Everyone is staring, but Galo doesn't notice. Meis turns the music up a notch.

"... Can we talk?" Lio asks, dropping his defensive stance. "Outside? Just us."

Really, Galo should've told him no. Galo deserved to leave him standing there like a fool, because he _knew_ he had the upper hand now. He knew Lio was _asking_ , not _requesting_ , and he knew _asking_ wasn't something a person in Lio's position was used to doing.

Galo, though, is too stupid to refuse. He knows this. People tell him all the time, how dumb he is, how faithful and hopeful and _nice_ he is, and they're right, always right.

"Sure," he says flatly, and he follows Lio out back, by the garbage.

Stupid, dumb. Garbage.

Lio is the first to speak.

"I was an angry kid. I spent a lot of time in corners," he says, as though its relevant— as though Galo should care. "I did a lot of things I'm not proud of. We all did. As you've made abundantly clear, you understand what kind of feather flocks together here."

Lio reaches in his back pocket and pulls out— _cigarettes?_

No. Chewing gum. He offers a stick to Galo, who refuses.

"Suit yourself. You're free to form your own opinions. I can't make you trust me, and I sure as hell don't trust _you_ , Galo Thymos." He pops the gum in his mouth and carefully folds the foil into a square. "If you want to believe I'm a criminal, I can't stop you. But."

Lio scoots a bit of gravel around with the side of his boot. Galo notices the way he scoops a mound together and flattens it out, over and over.

"But what?"

Lio sighs through his nose. "But I'd like to prove I'm better than that. I didn't hire you to blackmail you. I jumped the gun because we need the help, _bad,_ and there you were. Free help. Right in my lap."

The only light overhead blinks on and off, struggling to work through its last bit of juice. Galo can't help but stare at Lio, all five-and-a-quarter feet of him, all contradiction and authority.

He's still pretty, even if Galo hates him.

"I... see," Galo answers. He wishes he could say more.

"I know it's unethical," Lio shrugs. "So. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pressured you like that. And you're free to take off, now, if you want. Don't worry about the bike thing."

"But—"

"No," Lio says, shaking his head. "I know what it's like to have your hand forced. No."

Galo smells like hops and sewage and sweat, but so does Lio. He knows this because he steps forward, closer.

_Stupid, dumb. Nice._

He bumps a shoulder against him. "Who's forcing your hand? Which hand they forcing? Lil' Michigan? Don't you think he's been through enough already?"

The air's cold in his lungs as he breaks into a tired laugh. It's bad timing. It doesn't fit the mood at all.

Lio cracks a smile, and starts to laugh with him.

They back against the wall behind them. The cracks in the old wood paneling catch against Galo's shirt, and they don't stop laughing. Lio's cheeks are hot and pink. They emphasize the dark circles under his eyes in all the worst ways, and Galo has never seen a lovelier human.

They catch their breath. Lio spits out his gum.

"Thank you, Galo Thymos. You're not half bad."

And if _not half bad_ was a compliment, then Galo would carry it with him. He holds the door open for Lio as they walk back inside, careful to duck under the ladder and live wires— and he finishes his shift, all eight hours of it.

When the doors are locked and the register's cleared out, Lio gathers his things and walks Galo to his bike.

"But because you asked," Lio finally comments, off-handed and easy, "it's Foresight. Twisting my hand, I mean. Eminent domain. You know."

Galo whips his head back out of his helmet just to make sure he heard correctly. "What? What about— eminent who?"

"Foresight. You know, the piece of shit with his own 501c3? He gave us a few weeks to negotiate an offer, but after that, this place is being bulldozed for government land."

Galo's stomach drops. _"What?"_

Lio sighs, as though the words coming out of his mouth don't mean anything anymore. "I know. I'm working on it."

And with that, he swings a leg over the scratched-up seat of his motorcycle, and knocks back the kickstand. 

Galo speaks before he thinks.

"Oh my god. I am too. Lio—"

His mouth goes dry.

"He's my boss."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to write this chapter so quickly, but I woke up at 6am, ate cold pizza, and fell into a trance.
> 
> I intended for this to be as light-hearted as possible but my hands decided it needed some red tape and more jargon than I'll ever be comfortable with learning. I know like, jack shit about law, so bear with me here :')
> 
> Thank you for reading! Have a good week!


	3. 150 Hours (But Who's Counting)

"Thought the Boss sent you packin'," Meis says a week later. He's got both arms shoved down the mouth of an ice machine, and Galo's supposed to be aiming a sanitizer hose into the basin. 

Unfortunately, Galo talks with his hands.

"He didn't _send me packin'_ , he told me I don't hafta work my bill off anymore," he says, whipping the hose to the right. "There's a difference, okay?"

Meis ducks out of the way. "Man, if you drench me with that shit, I _swear_ —"

" _And_ ," Galo adds, ignoring him, "Lio says you gotta be nice to me. I'm here of my own volition and I'm a hardworking, quick learner. And I bench, like, 250—"

"Buddy, _please,_ stop talking," Meis groans. He grabs the end of the hose to steady it. Galo watches the arc of sudsy chemicals shoot out past his fist.

Meis looks him in the eye, which is a first— so far, Gueira's been the one trying to intimidate him. But today, he's nowhere to be seen— and Lio, too, is missing. Meis alone had been left to man the kitchen, and cleaning the slime mold from the bottom of the ice machine is today's To-Do, _numero uno._

"Look," he starts. "I get it. You got a conscience on you, and in a weird way, I can respect that. But we don't need you. Our whole gang's been running this joint for thirty years just fine. So check your fuckin' ego at the door, and maybe, _maybe,_ we'll be _nice_."

Heavily-smudged eyeliner stares at Galo, and Galo stares right back. 

Nobody tells Galo Thymos what to do.

"That's not what Lio said," he shrugs, deciding to play it cheeky. "'Cording to him, this place is on its last damn legs. That's the whole reason I'm here. Free, indentured, guilty service, before this whole shack gets bought off and grated into swiss cheese. Bam! So you can _suck it_ , 'cuz you _do_ need me, and here I am to stay!"

And before Galo can run another victory lap with his mouth, Meis twists the end of the hose back and sprays him with hot sanitizer.

"Fuck you," Meis deadpans, as Galo thrashes sideways. "You think it's cool to brag about that sort of thing? Destroying a livelihood? Fuck you."

Galo thwumps backwards against the sink and runs the tap as cold as it'll go. "HOT! That was _hot_ , dude!! Oh my god—"

"Good. Learn your damn lesson?"

"Maybe! Maybe I'll apologize when I can feel my FACE AGAIN," Galo spews, splashing his skin with water. Meis was right, of course— Galo totally deserved that, but he's too shocked to do anything but gasp for breath. He stumbles over some shipment boxes and reaches for the supply closet, where he remembers the first aid kit lives—

Upon pulling open the door, he's greeted with the sight of Lio in the corner, and Gueira on his knees.

For an eternal moment, Galo can't break away from Lio's hooded eyes, glazed over in concentration and unkempt ecstasy. Lio's hair is mussed and his neck's _destroyed_ with hickeys, but his face doesn't bloom into shock until Galo blinks first.

And then everything happens at once.

Galo grunts out _I'm SORRY!_ , Gueira pulls off Lio's cock with a wild, raging **_THYMOS_** — and Lio, befitting his name— a Boss and a King— cooly leans over and slams the door shut.

Meis drags Galo back by the fabric of his shirt. He's still visibly upset with him, but the corners of his mouth keep tugging up and down again, fighting a fit of laughter.

As he's pushed out of the kitchen, Galo wonders if he should leave for good. His inner Remi tells him he's an idiot for even considering to stay. He'd just broken every social code in the book. He'd insulted his peers AND walked into a porno that _definitely_ wouldn't pass a health inspection.

He didn't miss how red Lio's cheeks were. 

But he wants to apologize, and he wants to do it correctly, so he waits until Lio pops back out five minutes later. 

"Oh," Lio says flatly. He's fixed himself up, wearing last week's turtleneck sweater. "You're still here."

Galo looks up from his place by the toaster oven behind the bar. It smells like burnt bread and smoke.

"Leaving woulda made me feel worse."

The toaster oven _dings!_ and Galo removes a blackened bagel.

"It would've made me feel bad too," Lio tells him. He manhandles a barstool and pulls it down from the countertop. "That was— well. Embarrassing, to say the least. I'm sorry you had to see that."

Bagel-in-mouth, Galo inspects the back of the machine and fiddles with the plug. The  
wiring's loose. "D'you alwaysh hvv sex wif your employeesh in closetsh? Does Meish know?"

"Meis knows," Lio admits. He sits on the barstool open-legged and unashamed. "We're— we all live together. This is normal for us. I'm not used to having other people in the kitchen," he explains. He motions for Galo to pass him a beer. "Frankly, I didn't expect you to show up today."

Galo swallows a massive bite. "I said I would. I've been looking into the Foresight thing," he tells Lio. "I'm not saying I can stop it from being bulldozed, but I think I can offer some insight, at least."

Lio pops the top off his bottle and stares at his knees. He goes quiet for a moment.

"Why would you do that, Galo?"

And it's a fair question. Why should Galo, pride-hurt and chemical-burned, keep coming to help? Why would he break confidentiality at his _actual_ job, one of _two_ actual jobs, to look into some stupid paperwork for Lio?

He sighs, and finishes his bagel.

"I can see this place has a lot of history. I can see how much you care. And maybe I'm an idiot, but I think you deserve a fighting chance as much as anyone else," he says, leaning back against the bar. "And I'm sorry I keep judging you guys for it. It's a different world than I'm used to, but that deffo doesn't mean I gotta be an ass about it."

There's a cool purple curtain that separates the bar from the kitchen. It parts as Meis strides out, his long heavy-metal hair flowing behind him. He crosses the room and pulls the small beaded chain that switches on the neon Open sign.

It's 4pm. There's a long night ahead.

"Apology accepted," Lio says, crossing his arms. "Repeat it for Meis, I don't think he heard the whole thing."

Meis side-eyes Galo, who immediately starts to repeat what he can recall, word-for-word.

"Don't," Meis interrupts, and Galo lets out a puff of breath.

"Good, 'cuz I don't remember what I said, exactly."

Lio and Meis exchange a tired look.

"So you gonna come finish the ice machine, or you gonna keep lookin' punchable?" Meis says, but he's smirking now. Galo doesn't miss the way his hand settles on Lio's shoulder, or the way Lio leans into the touch.

"Depends. Are you all gonna keep it in your pants this time?"

"Depends," Lio answers, slow-blinking. _Like a cat,_ Galo thinks. "Are you jealous?"

And it's meant as a joke, really— Galo knows everyone's just trying to get a rise out of him. Under any other circumstances, he'd be fine, untouchable! But here, with the way Lio's _staring_ at him—

It's working.

He huffs, and quickly unplugs the toaster oven. "This thing's a fire hazard," he mutters, before he struts back through the curtain.

***

Four days later, on Tuesday, Galo's spread out on Station 3's breakroom couch. He's got a stack of computer printouts in his lap, but he's neglecting them in favor of watching an ASMR video. Aina walks in right when he's about to get a cranial nerve exam from a woman who keeps _tut-tut-tutting_ with her mouth.

Aina says something he can't hear, then pops out one of his earbuds to get his attention. "Mission control to Galo," she huffs. "Were you the last person to use the printer?"

He was, and judging by the look on her face, he considers telling her otherwise. But lo, Galo Thymos is an honest man, and honest men don't lie about economics, relationships, or ink levels.

"Maybe. Yes. How much trouble am I in?"

"Ignis says he put that cartridge in an hour ago. How the hell'd you go through a new thing of ink in an _hour?_ "

He glances down at his lap, where two-hundred and thirteen sheets of paper are stacked like the Tower of Pisa. "It's a work expense," he offers weakly.

"Galo."

"Isn't it deductible?!"

"Galo!" she groans, thwacking him in the arm with the back of her hand. "Not for personal use! What's so important that you couldn't wait to print at _home_ or a _library_ or something?"

The first page, facing up, reads _Legal Recourse: Challenging Property Condemnation and Eminent Domain_ , but Galo shrugs and says "stuff".

She cranes her head and squints at the tiny text, densely packed together and already marked up with a highlighter. "Is your apartment getting condemned?"

Galo chuckles under his breath. "C'mon Aina, it's not THAT gross," he says. "This is just a... personal project. You know. Brain juice to keep the ol' noggin in tip-top shape!"

"You're really bad at lying," she tells him, before lifting up his calves and depositing herself on the couch beneath them. "Not that I'm trying to be nosy. It's just. You're easy to read, and you're acting weird."

"Sorry," Galo apologizes before he can stop himself. When she tells him it's nothing to be sorry for, he shrugs. Lately, he's just been in a sorry mood.

"Okay, so new angle: are you doing okay? With the whole criminal-bar-work-thing? I can ask my neighbor about taking it to court, he's a lawyer—"

"I don't want to take it to court, Aina," Galo says softly. "I don't think it'll be an issue. We worked out a solution."

Relief floods her face. "Oh, cool, thank god! What's your solution? Payment plan for the wrecked bike? Reminding Lio Fotia that blackmail's illegal and punishable by firehose?"

"Nah, I'm gonna keep working there."

The wall clock ticks four times before she opens her mouth to reply. "Excuse me."

"Yeah. They really need the help, and I'd feel bad about letting the whole thing go. Lio said I don't even gotta show up if I don't want to, so it's not like I'm being held there against my will—"

"Galo, I swear—"

"What! I'll be fine! It's not like anyone's gonna murder me! I think! Hell, if anything, the whole damn place will go up in flames before that, it's a real dump—"

Immediately, the firehouse siren blares, and Galo jumps so hard his leg smacks into Aina's shoulder. A waterfall of paper cascades to the floor as they leap off the couch and rush to the loading bay— Galo rounds a corner using his arm for leverage, jumps over a railing, and meets the rest of the crew six seconds later.

It's only after he's suited up and stuffed in the back of the truck that he recognizes the address on Remi's GPS— and knows that irony is cruel, and the universe is a simulation.

The Slowburn doesn't live up to its name, Galo learns. A poster-child of 1970s architecture, all its wood paneling and low ceilings are doomed to disintegrate if they don't act smart. There's a growing flame on the west side of the building, the wall with the bar; Galo realizes in an instant what they're up against.

But fire captain Ignis is already issuing commands. "Remi. Park it A-side, it's the only part of the lot with enough space. Varys, get that line charged. It's still small enough to take it with a direct attack—"

"This is a Class-C," Galo interrupts, hanging over the back of Remi's seat.

There's a crackle over the intercom. "What?"

"This is a Class-C! Electric! Dry extinguish, no water, I think I know what caused this!"

In any other circumstance— or any other firehouse— Galo's intuition would go unappreciated. He's made plenty of bad calls before. He's blatantly ignored Command when his heart and his body told him otherwise. But here, with these people— his friends— he has a voice, and he's damn well going to use it.

Today, in this moment, his voice is shaky. The bar's not open yet, it's only eleven, but—

_Please don't be inside. Please don't be inside._

There's a pause, and Ignis answers. "All right. I'll try to confirm with dispatch. Galo, cross-check the back entry and hit the breaker."

Luckily, Galo knows the place like the back of his hand— sort of. He's been here long enough to know to duck under the live wires and step over the big metal panel on the floor. The devil in his brain who likes to tell him horrible things flashes a picture of his coworkers trying to navigate this without him— if it'd been his day at Foresight— if any of them tried to get in without prior knowledge of the layout—

He presses on, through black smoke and rising heat, and finds the breaker box behind the open storeroom door. All goes dark when he flips the circuit.

"Anyone in here!" he shouts, and receives no answer. 

He grits his teeth and radios back to Ignis.

"Power's off. Anyone confirmed inside?"

"No one, but give it a good look. Motel owner next-door phoned it in. Said the only vehicle in the lot took off two hours ago."

Galo idly wonders who'd be here at 9am, considering the bar closes well after midnight. Lio, Meis, and Gueira live together, and while they all have separate bikes, why would any of them come alone?

"Hello! Promepolis Fire Department! Is anyone in here!" he shouts, progressing further into the building. He hears the front door being broken into, and recognizes Varys' booming voice as it calls out to him.

"Galo! You in here?"

"Yeah! I don't see anyone!" He pokes his head into Dry Storage— nothing. Walk-in— no-one. Luckily, the flames are contained to the front-of-house, and when he passes through the kitchen curtain, he sees Varys blasting the counter with CO2.

Toaster oven.

It's ten minutes of working inside before they can safely call it a success— sure, half of the bar is torched, and two meters of roof above it is lost to ashes, but the rest of the building stands untouched. They work another fifteen to filter the smoke out and backtrack for any missed bodies. Galo finds none.

"Well. Guess that ends your bar stint," Aina tells him, once he's outside and sweaty and shirtless. Something about the comment rubs him the wrong way, so he doesn't answer her. Instead, he chugs an entire liter of water and watches as cop cars and media trucks begin to barricade the street. 

Three separate reporters approach him for commentary, so he gives them a rundown as usual. He doesn't bother putting clothes back on, and the media doesn't ask him to.

But when he finally sees Lio's bike get waved through by police, he's positive his heart pounds hard enough to leap through his skin. Lio's tiny frame is impossibly imposing in leather, but his walk is slow and childish today. He never takes his eyes off the bar.

"Hey," Galo calls out, but Lio doesn't answer. The bottom of his face is red and irritated, and his mouth hangs open in disbelief.

"Hey. Lio," Galo tries again. He takes an experimental step closer. "I'm sorry. I know this sucks. I—"

"No," Lio interrupts, and Galo sees his shoulders shake. "No. It's— I should've been here. I _was_ here. And—"

He huffs out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh. Galo nods supportively.

"Hey, no, you couldn't have known this would happen. You were here? And you left?"

"I had an appointment," Lio says. He's too shell-shocked to elaborate, or maybe he just values his privacy— but with the way the skin of his jaw's all angry, Galo connects the dots.

"Electrolysis?"

Lio looks at him for the first time. His eyebrows dig down in confusion. "Yeah."

Galo shrugs. "Samesies," he says, raising his arms high above his head, so that his barely-visible surgery scars peek out from under his pecs. "Well, not _samesies_ samesies, I don't zap my chest hair off, but. You know."

The scrutiny of Lio's gaze is hard to pose for, but he waits as violet eyes scan over his body. Galo wants to connect with him in any way possible, keep him grounded in the face of tragedy—

And then, Lio blinks rapidly in succession.

"Since when were you a _firefighter?_ "

"Wait, what? I'm trying to tell you I'm trans—"

"I know. I get the memo. I thought you were a _political aide!_ "

"Yeah, like, ONE day a week! Weren't you listening when I said I have two jobs!"

"Fuck me, I don't recall, Galo Thymos!"

"Hell no, I am NOT entering your closet of vice, Lio Fotia!"

"I don't even HAVE a—" 

Lio dry swallows a gulp of air, breaking down into sudden, conflicted tears. "I don't—"

Galo's arms drop at the same time as his stomach.

"Woah. Hey. Easy," he tries, quiet and soft. He ignores the cameras that have taken interest in them— and luckily, Aina shoos them off. "Everything's fine. I promise. I was just in there. Bar wall needs some love, roof needs a tarp—"

"That's not fine, that's _money_ , Galo!" Lio grunts, furiously wiping away his tears. "Do you realize how much it costs to run a bar? Do you know how deep in the red we are? Do you honestly believe I _like_ leaving things broken and gross and messy? And for what, for people like _you_ to come in and tell me it's better off as _government land_ for a _dog park_ or a _sewage plant!_ "

Galo's guilt runs heavy and deep as he realizes how much he's contributed to that.

"I don't think it's better off as any of those things, Lio," he says, voice desperate. "I'll talk to him. Kray Foresight. I can convince him to lay off, I _know_ I can. And in the meantime, we can have a fundraiser, or something—"

In the distance, Galo can overhear reporters saying things like _currently under investigation_ and _buyout_ and _previously indicted for arson_ , and he forces the rational part of his brain to shut off. 

Optimism doesn't come from rationality.

Lio seems to agree, because he wipes his eyes, winces at Galo, and says "You're a fool, you know."

Galo nods. 

"I know."

***

And yet, by nightfall, it's as though tragedy never courted Lio to begin with. He's all smiles and forward-planning as he runs over the budget with his boys— his Generals, Galo thinks.

They're not allowed back into the building until they can get an inspection tomorrow, so they're currently drinking on the curb out front. Gueira had supplied a cooler full of "Dr. Pepper" sometime around noon, and the three of them proceeded to drink until nightfall.

Galo clocked off at five. Lio had his phone number, now. _For emergencies,_ Galo'd insisted. He figured Lio wouldn't use it even if he had to— who was he to trust someone like Galo, who ruined his bank account, and worked for The Man?

But Galo received a text message sometime after dinner.

 _Bourbon in the parking lot_ was an emergency, Lio explained.

And honestly? Galo feels like an intruder. He's not a business owner, a felon, or one of Lio's partners. He's a firefighter, a political aide, and, well. Just a guy who walked into a bar.

But here in this moment, piss-drunk under a cactus Gueira insists on calling "Frankie", he feels that maybe, this can work. Maybe he can help them— in actionable ways, rather than complaining about dishes or halfheartedly scrubbing floors.

Meis lets out the loudest burp he's ever heard— unless it's the echo, or the alcohol impacting his brain.

"That's for saving the bar, Fireboy," he explains, and Galo burps back as a "thank you".

Maybe, even if just for a moment, he's meant to be here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly this reads like an episode of The Bold And The Beautiful and I'm totally fine with that.
> 
> I don't know firefighty words, I just went on firefighty wiki. Ahhhhh
> 
> Thank you for reading so far! Plot is absolutely not my forte but the challenge is fun.


	4. 134 And Not-A-Date

He's six years old and happy now.

His birthday cake is white and red, and red's his favorite color. Last year he liked blue, because last year he liked the ocean, but this year he likes firetrucks. Every month at school the teachers hold an assembly and give out awards like _Perfect Attendance!_ and _Most Improved!_ (and Galo won that one, this time!) and every assembly starts with a big firetruck pulling onto the blacktop. He likes to help the firefighters unroll the hoses, because he's strong— strong for someone like him, the bullies say. Strong for a girl.

But he's not a girl, he tells them, and he's crying as he hits them back. He's strong, and six years old, and a boy.

His parents explain to him that they're in a suit with the school board.

Galo doesn't know what that means, but they hug him and tell him they're working on it. He gets a red and white cake with a firetruck on it for his birthday because he's suspended for a week and he'll miss this month's assembly.

No one comes to his party on Saturday, but that's okay, because he got a Gameboy Color and Pokemon Blue. He can't read all the words yet, but his mom's a teacher, and she helps him. She says he's probably got dyslexia too, which makes it harder, but there's nothing more fun than a challenge.

Right?

Galo picks Squirtle, because he still likes the ocean. Squirtle puts out fires. He almost picked Charmander, because fires are cool too, but Dani H. from school told him water types are stronger, and bugs are dumb and creepy.

Bulbasaur's not a bug, he tells her, but yeah, bugs are weird. He doesn't like squashing them though 'cuz it makes him feel bad.

_And then you'd cry,_ she says, which makes him mad, so he pushes her, and she pushes him back. They don't get in trouble though because they're friends and friends don't tell on each other.

Anyway. Galo picks Squirtle, who evolves into Wartortle late one night when he's playing under the covers with a flashlight. He has to keep the sound off 'cuz he can't find his headphones, but that's okay, he's excited anyway— and he accidentally yells out a _YES!!!_ because he's six, and he's happy.

He slaps a hand over his mouth because he knows he'll get in trouble again if he's caught past bedtime with his Gameboy. He throws his flashlight on the floor and waits for approaching footsteps and his dad's warning voice.

But— weird, it never comes.

As a precaution, Galo saves his game, 'cuz he doesn't want to fight Lt. Surge all over again. He switches off his Gameboy.

Maybe his parents didn't hear him. That'd be sweet.

He waits another minute— counts to sixty in the darkness, then sixty-five, then ninety. Something smells kinda wrong.

Hundred-n'-eleven. He's in the clear.

He grabs under his bed for the flashlight again and turns it back on. It's hard to see at first, but then he realizes why.

There's smoke coming out from under his bedroom door.

And then, loud and shrieking, the smoke alarm goes off so suddenly he jumps an inch off his bed.

Galo's heart is fast, so fast, and he takes a moment to breathe, but it's hard to do that with all the smoke. He knows from school that smoke goes Up, and he should crawl on the floor during a fire, so he does that, but he doesn't remember what to do afterward.

What did the firefighters say again?

_Shit,_ he thinks, in his dad's voice. He hasn't said that word out loud yet.

He coughs, and grabs his stuffed fish (who he'd named Matoi, which was a cool word his grandma from Chiba taught him last year when he liked fish _and_ firefighters). His mom and his dad and his grandma all went to the aquarium together before she'd passed away, so he liked to sleep with Matoi even though he told Dani H. he didn't sleep with stuffed animals anymore.

Matoi makes him feel better, so he calls out to his parents and opens his door.

The fire's in the hallway.

He shouts for his parents again, and he hears them shout back, but the fire's loud too. He's mad that none of the firefighters who gave him his _Most Improved_ award told him fire was _loud._

He calls out again, and again, and his throat hurts, but he can't get to his parents' door, because it's got fire on it too, now.

Worst of all, Dani H. was right; he cries a _lot,_ and the smoke alarm won't shut up. His legs stop working and he doesn't know what to do, because he can't hear anything but the fire, see anything but the fire, and it's bright and ugly and hot and he _hates_ crying when he's mad 'cuz he's a _boy_ and he's _strong_ and he's supposed to be a firefighter one day—

His eyes jolt open. He pulls himself upright.

He's drenched in sweat and panting for air— but he's home, and he's twenty-six, and he's awake now.

Galo runs his hands through his hair. Just a dream. Just a dream again.

Matoi watches him from her spot on his bookshelf.

_Just a nightmare. Just a memory._

To his right, on his nightstand, his phone screen's lit up. He catches the time— 3:19 am— and a text message— from Lio— before the screen fades to black again.

He breathes through his nose now. In and out. Slower and slower.

He wipes the wetness from his cheeks and reaches out, unlocking his phone.

It's Lio's second time texting him, ever. It'd been a week since the bar re-opened after the fire, so he must've just closed up for the night.

_Are you free tomorrow morning?_

Galo stares at the message and sniffs away the last of his snot.

Realistically, he's not— he works an overnight at the station tomorrow, and he likes to sleep as late as he can before those kinds of shifts. But...

_sure, wassup?_

It takes Lio more than a minute to reply, so Galo gets up to pee. The hallway is dark and cool and free of fire.

When he's done, he washes his hands up to his elbows. He washes his face. He looks in the mirror and shuts off the light.

Lio answers _Business meeting. Brunch. You and me?_

Galo smiles, even though he's not ready to smile yet. He types out a reply. He decides he doesn't like it, so he deletes it, and tries again.

> _we talkin mimosas and fancy oatmeal or we talkin dennys?_
> 
> _We're talking free continental breakfast at the motel next to the bar._

Galo scoots the comforter off the bed with his foot. He turns on his side, rolling away from the sweat-damp spot on his sheets.

He's tired and heavy, and a little bit sick to his stomach, but he's thankful for something to keep him anchored to the present moment. He tries to think of Lio, undone for the night and safe in his own bed, maybe— did Lio have his own bed? His own room?

Galo grips the phone in both hands.

> _so no on the mimosas then :(_
> 
> _I didn't take you for a mimosa kind of guy, Galo._

> _did u forget im gay! lol_
> 
> _You can be gay and dislike champagne. Case in point, me._

Galo's smile is bigger now, but he doesn't notice it. He reaches out and grabs his water bottle off the nightstand and takes a long swig before replying.

Lio'd said he lives with Gueira and Meis. Did they have enough space, between all of them? Did they even have an apartment??

Galo's one-bed, one-bath is new and nice and situated in a quiet neighborhood near the hospital. It's expensive, but not enough to put a strain on him financially— he gets a stipend from his work at Foresight, and he'd be an idiot not to use it.

Not when he owed Kray Foresight his life.

Usually, he dreams long enough to see the man break through the fallen debris and flaming walls around his six-year-old body. Usually he's saved by his hero— ex-fireman, current delegate— and he wakes up shaken, but relieved.

Galo's new apartment is nicer than the one in his dreams, but it's lonely, sometimes.

> _how bout,_ Galo starts, carefully undoing his typos, _i do you one better. i know a place thats got Food food. my treat?_
> 
> _Food food._

> _yeah, like eggs and stuff_
> 
> _not to insult the motel ofc_

There's a moment where Lio starts typing something, but then he stops. And then he starts again. And stops.

Galo watches this happen two more times, and begins to wonder if he's said something wrong, but—

_That's very kind of you. Where should we meet?_

And it's so _Lio,_ so cut-and-dry and professional, that Galo rolls his eyes. But he pops the name of a restaurant into Google Maps, copies the address, and sends it to him.

> _11 good for you? i wanna get SOME sleep lol_

Lio's quick to reply this time, and Galo's still not ready to smile, but he realizes he's been smiling this whole time.

> _11 is perfect._

***

  
The diner's busy, even on a Thursday morning. Plates and cups and silverware clink out a medley of white noise, and groups of hungry customers build layers of chatter that echoes off the high ceilings. Galo's snagged a booth near the window, where he sits in the sunlight and worries.

What if Lio hates this place? What if its not conducive to a "business meeting"— and come to think of it, what had Lio _meant_ by that?

But he barely has time to think, because Lio arrives on time, down to the second.

He's dressed in a color that isn't black. He's got his hair swept up into a tiny ponytail, with the longer bits fashionably dangling down around his face. He says something polite to the hostess, before his eyes scan the dining room for Galo— and Galo waves back at him, probably too enthusiastically.

For someone who'd gotten just two hours of sleep the night before, Galo's certainly bright-eyed and ready. He's wound up on caffeine and anxiety— unfortunate, synonymous things that he keeps pouring into himself. He finishes his fourth cup right when Lio scoots his way into the booth seat.

"Hi," he says to Lio, who sets his satchel aside. 

"Morning," Lio returns. He's considerably less awake, but he's got a bit of makeup on, and Galo's particularly transfixed by the peachy eyeshadow that brightens Lio's face.

"You look nice," he says, because it's true.

Lio takes a sip of water. "Thanks," he says, almost looking confused by the compliment. He pauses for just a moment. "I looked like shit when I woke up an hour ago."

Somehow, Galo doubts that.

"Rough start?"

"Late night. Two fights, and someone puked on the pool table. I didn't lock up and get out of there 'til four."

Galo feels his face scrunch up. "Yeeeesh, so you texted me from work? Why'd you wanna get together so early? Woulda thought sleep's more important," he says.

Lio shrugs. "I don't sleep much. I'm usually back there by morning, if I can help it."

"That's some dedication," Galo tells him. "You really love the place, don'cha."

And maybe it's the way Lio's hair reflects the sunlight, or the way he's quietly resting his cheek on his palm, but Galo thinks he looks a little dreamier when he says "yeah, I do."

Luckily, though, before Galo can wax poetic, they're interrupted by their server. She's dressed in a cute striped apron and has her hair done up in victory curls, on-theme with the rest of the diner.

"Hey, strangers. Long time no see. What're you having today?"

Lio opens his mouth to speak before he looks up, but when he does, he gives a priceless double-take. Galo breaks into a grin. 

"Thyma?"

"Lio," she smiles gently.

"You're a server? You never mentioned that," he says, shooting her an incredulous look. Galo can't help but let out a chuckle.

"Best I can get, for now," she sighs. "You know how it is."

Lio hums in agreement and sits back in his seat. "I— I do, yeah." Galo's not sure what they mean by that, especially considering Thyma has a _Masters degree,_ but he's not about to interrupt. "Wish you would've told me earlier. We do service industry discounts."

"Gueira's been undercharging me anyway," she admits, sounding only a _little_ bit sorry. "Galo said he'd bring you around today, though, so I figured you'd find out soon enough. Surprise!"

"Surprise!" Galo echoes, and Lio can't keep from smiling.

"Surprise," he agrees, before glancing over her shoulder at a man in a red polo, who keeps his judgmental stare fixed on the group. "Looks like your manager doesn't seem to appreciate the chit-chat, though. We'll catch up when you have a moment, yeah?"

"Oops. Yeah, for sure," and she politely excuses herself before scurrying to the next table.

Galo and Lio share eye contact, synchronized in their amusement for three seconds, two seconds, one— until—

"Oh dammit, I forgot to take your orders. Sorry!" Thyma says as she skips back over. "What can I get you today?"

***

An hour later, they're full on hashbrowns and pancakes. Together, they've talked finances and fundraising ideas:

  * "Car wash montage."
  * "GoFundMe page?"
  * "Meis has a _band?_ Hell, get 'im playin' already!"
  * "I'm not charging a twenty-dollar cover for goth night, Galo, that's _ridiculous._ "
  * "Two words, Lio. Fireman. Burlesque."
  * "Please talk to Foresight already."



"I will, I will. I'm— Look, I gotta build a case, okay."

Galo manages to hit a buzz off his single mimosa, and chalks it up to the fact that he'd skipped dinner the night before.

"You didn't eat your smiley face," he points out, referring to the lonely strip of bacon resting near the bottom of Lio's plate.

"I ate the eyes," he says. "I'm not big on bacon. All yours if you want it."

Galo wastes no time in scooping it through the remainder of Lio's egg yolk and tossing it down the hatch.

"How's that mouth taste," Lio teases, smiling into the dregs of his coffee.

"Meaty," Galo shrugs. "You ever gonna stop flirting with me?"

Lio flicks a bit of hashbrown at Galo's forearm, where it sticks to his skin. Galo makes a high pitched noise somewhere within his nasal cavity. 

"You ever gonna stop reacting?" Lio scoffs.

Galo makes a motion to retaliate, but Thyma sets their check down first. 

"Wow, you're a cheap date, Lio," she says softly, refilling his coffee one last time. "You've gotta give Galo more credit. He's a gentleman. He can afford more."

"Hey!" Galo grunts, at the same time Lio says "I'm not his date."

Thyma hums. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding... but really, think about it," she says with an angelic wink.

And before they can argue any further, she's back on the floor, ever on the clock. Galo feels bad for her and makes a mental reminder to invite her out when his service to Lio is spoken for.

Across from him, Lio's oddly pink in the face. "I'm not your date," he repeats, eyes cast downward at the bill. "But I wouldn't say no to one, if you asked."

It takes Galo a moment to buffer. He loads the statement in his head, blinks three times, and blurts out "Wait, for _real?"_

Lio huffs into his mug. "What's the big deal? You take Thyma out all the time."

"Yeah, as friends! That's a friend thing!"

"Am I not your friend?" Lio asks, and Galo hesitates. He can't tell if he's trying to mess with him anymore, and Galo feels the long-forgotten danger of dealing with bullies creeping back up his spine.

But he stares at Lio's peachy eyes, and the tired slope of his shoulders, and he sighs.

"You're a cool person," he starts, honestly. "I just— I don't know how you feel about me. If you even like me. Hell, truth be told, Lio, I don't know much about you at all, other than— well. What people have told me."

Outside, the sun moves higher into the sky, casting shadows of streetlights and tree trunks into the window where they sit.

Lio wets his lips.

"Then maybe we should start over."

***

Galo learns a lot in six hours. 

He learns that Lio's not from Promepolis, and neither are Meis or Gueira.

He learns that Lio is older; he'd assumed so, of course, but he never expected to hear "thirty-one".

He learns that Lio's an expat, a violinist, and an orphan like him, and that he's never had a corn dog, and he's never committed murder.

"The prosecution tried to say I used cat litter as an accelerant," he tells Galo, once they're people-watching at the park. "One, I'm not that messy. If I commit a crime, I'm damn well covering my tracks. Two, on my own family?"

Galo listens quietly and counts the steps of a jogger in the distance.

"I lost my parents in a fire too," he says, when the silence hangs too heavy in the air. "I'm sorry."

But Lio doesn't seem too scathed. He stretches his lean body backwards onto the grass. An inch of his tummy peeks out from under his shirt. "That's a shame. You deserved better, Galo."

Twenty years was a lot of time to allow himself the same compassion that Lio'd offered in twenty seconds.

"Eh. Don't we both."

And out the corner of his eye, Galo swears he sees Lio staring at him, but when he turns his head to check, Lio's eyes are gently shut. The sunset pink on his eyelids is starting to smudge, just a bit.

They sit comfortably and wordlessly for a little while longer, listening to birds and strangers' conversations being carried on the breeze. It's strange, being with someone who suffered his losses. It's sad, knowing he'd been blamed for them.

He believes Lio, after all. Maybe that's stupid, and maybe he'll be hurt for it, but he believes him.

Galo's phone alarm tells him when he needs to get ready for work. He helps Lio to his feet, and they dust the grass and dirt off their butts before heading back to their bikes.

In this moment, Galo is twenty-six. Maybe not happy, maybe not healed, but he's doing okay. 

"Hey, Lio," he says, before they part ways for the night. "Thanks. Really. For the date."

The blonde stares back-- his eyes always calculating, always trying to get one step ahead of Galo. But then he blooms into the tiniest of smiles before squishing into his motorcycle helmet. 

"You're the one who paid," he says, and he starts the engine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain hasn't been working lately, so writing is hard. I rewrote this like four times and I'm still not satisfied but. Oh well!
> 
> My elementary school actually did the firetruck thing during monthly awards ceremonies. I have no idea why. I think it was just a thing they did in partnership with the local fire department, but everyone had fun, and you could volunteer yourself to be blasted into oblivion by the firehose if you wanted to (from a safe distance, I'm sure). The 90s were wild, ok!!!
> 
> I hope you're all staying safe and well. Please take care of yourselves. Also please vote in the primaries.


	5. Changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the rating change <3

"Hot water's back on," Meis announces as he enters the room. He wipes his hands on the hem of his boxers. They're the black ones with the neon martinis all over them, which means they're really _Gueira's boxers_ , but it's a miracle if anyone in this apartment can find their own shit anymore.

Lio and Gueira give half-hearted "wooo"s from the floor. It's a very nice floor, they all agree, because the carpet is clean, and there aren't any roaches now that management finally called in a professional. _It's not our fault,_ Lio had to insist. _Do you know how often I clean this place?_

_Twice a week_ was the answer. With a toothbrush. Especially along the baseboards, where the roachy fuckers liked to scurry and mate and drop their nasty little poops.

Gueira had named one Galo. 

Unfortunately, Galo was hard to tell apart from the rest of the roaches, so they could only _assume_ he'd met his untimely death when the exterminator swung by last week.

They could never know for sure.

But now it was safe to lay on the floor, which happened to be one of Lio's favorite activities. He'd missed quietly sitting cross-legged with his morning coffee, feeling grounded and small on the carpet. He'd missed the rugburn that came from fooling around with Gueira and Meis (back at the old place, before they'd all moved in together). He'd missed rolling a joint, spreading out like a starfish, and staring at the popcorn ceiling until he saw shapes that made sense.

He liked to do that with clouds too, like at the park the other day. He hadn't mentioned it to Galo, but he saw a swan and a sword.

It'd been nice.

"Oy, Boss," Gueira says, snapping his fingers in front of Lio's face. "You're doin' it again."

Lio blinks. "Doing what again?"

"Doin' _this_ ," he grunts, before making the best impression Lio's ever seen of a melting human ice cream cone.

"I'm not doing that," Lio huffs, rolling onto his side. "I didn't even move."

"You did. You just went all sloppy in the eyes and smiled and stuff. You feelin' okay?"

"He's right," Meis echoes. He's got his arms crossed over his chest, like it gives him any authority.

_Pssshhh._ Please.

Lio rolls even further onto his side. In fact, he rolls until he's on his stomach, so that his face is buried in their nice, clean carpet.

Their safe carpet. Their carpet who doesn't gang up on him, unlike _these two chucklefucks._

Lio can't breathe with his nose against the floor, but they don't need to know that. "I'm fine. Leave me alone. Go do stuff."

"Do stuff?"

"We don't do stuff."

"What else we s'posed to do when our _poor lil' Lio_ needs _emotional support_ —"

"Oh my god, stop," Lio groans. His mouth is pressed deep into the polyester, and it's muffled when he speaks. "I don't need emotional support."

The mattress under Gueira dips as it takes on Meis' additional weight. It's Lio's mattress. It's also the communal couch. It's also on the floor, which is currently suffocating Lio's lungs as he melts into it.

"Look, we get it, it's cool. You're sweet on the dipshit from work, right?" Gueira squints. "I wish you a speedy recovery."

Meis nods. "Just be safe. Use a condom. I think we still got some of those glow-in-the-dark ones that haven't expired—"

Lio has never felt a fire stronger than the one currently growing under his skin.

"Oh my _god_ ," he bites full-force, finally breathing. "I'm not playing this game with you! Galo's my _friend,_ and I intend to keep it that way."

At least Meis has the courtesy of showing a little remorse. He elbows Gueira in the ribs to get him on the same page.

"Okay, whatever, we'll cool it," Gueira grumbles, elbowing Meis back. " _Friends,_ though. When'd the two of ya start bein' _friends_."

Lio snorts, pulling himself up onto his knees. His face is red from the lack of air. 

"After we went on a date."

There's a moment of silence. His face is still red. It's from the lack of air.

And then, just as woefully expected, the crowd goes wild.

"You went on a _what_ —" Meis shakes his head.

"You didn't tell us!" Gueira shakes Meis.

Lio's face is purple, and it's because of the lack of air, and definitely _not_ because he's mortified.

"I don't tell you two a lot of things," Lio grunts, rising to his feet now. "Particularly for this reason."

With whatever dignity he has leftover, Lio marches his way into the kitchen. It really only gets him about eight feet away from the peanut gallery, but its enough to breathe again. He stiffly reaches for a cup and runs it under the tap. Then he swipes his hand along the top of the refrigerator (too short to really see what he's doing) and fishes out a pill bottle.

"That being said," he continues, before dry-swallowing his prescription, "If anything regarding my relationship changes, you'll be the first to know. Obviously."

And then he takes a long, final sip of water. Conversation over.

The three of them don't talk right away.

"Well, thanks. I'd hope so," Gueira huffs. He crawls off Meis and decidedly heads toward the bathroom.

"Towels are clean," Meis calls after him, almost sounding bored. "Don't use up all the damn heat again."

A light switches on, and the hallway walls turn a brassy yellow. Gueira's voice echoes as he starts the tap with the door still open. "Maybe I want to. Maybe your ass can be _patient_."

"Honey-nut, now _when_ have I ever been patient—"

In the kitchen, Lio scrunches his nose and silently mouths _honey-nut?_

"Then get in here and we can share, dummy!"

And whatever happens next, Lio purposefully zones out from. He instead turns his attention toward the stack of bills on top of the microwave— credit card, paid. Electric, overdue, but it'll be fine for another week. Auto shop— the bike damage he'd insisted on covering for everyone— unopened. That one's a heart attack in waiting for Tomorrow Lio, who will surely have more resolve than Today Lio.

Then there's the internet (overdue), doctor's co-pay (waived), tax bill (from last year), and thankfully, a check.

He forgot to open it earlier. It's in a plain white envelope, with his name written in colored pencil on the front. The check itself is carefully wrapped in lined paper, like a gift.

Lio unfolds it, already smiling.

_This should shave off like 30 hours of service!!_

Galo had given it to him after he'd last gotten paid. It defeated the purpose of him working at the bar, but Lio couldn't keep him forever. And sure, Galo was self-electing to stay by now, but they still kept a tally— still wrote his remaining hours on the whiteboard by Lio's desk.

Galo Thymos was a man of his word, after all.

Maybe Gueira and Meis were right. Maybe the warmth and regret in Lio's chest mean something he can't name yet.

Luckily, he folds the check back into its envelope before he's accosted by a very wet, very naked Gueira.

"Hey. Stop lookin' so sad and boring n' get in there," he says, gesturing at the shower with his chin. "We wanna apologize for being annoying."

And normally, this late in the morning, Lio'd prefer to stay dry— prefer to stay sad and boring. He'd prefer to pay bills and crunch numbers until his wrist locks up, because that's who he is, and what he has to do. 

It's a duty he holds as manager of the only damn joint in town that opens its doors to people like him— people with stories. People like Gueira, with two strikes and paranoia, or people like Meis, with track marks and lost time. 

Friends who are willing to start over. Family that's willing to try again.

He can't fuck this up for them, he knows, but he's _tired_. There's a pang in Lio's stomach when he thinks about how easy it'd be to call it quits. That's another rotten feeling that he can't name yet, either.

But Gueira's raising an eyebrow, and Meis is shouting from the bathroom, and Lio isn't one to turn down an apology. There's a fondness for the way Gueira grabs his hand, and a gratefulness for the way Meis calls to him, and he thinks that maybe, they were right. Maybe Lio has a lot of love to give after all.

***

As it turns out, Lio is wrong about many things, and Lio is full of hubris.

His back is flush against Meis' chest, and confident hands start to soap up his hips. Gueira's in front of him, leaning down to kiss his neck, and _god_ , it feels so good when he sucks against his skin, bites into him harder than Lio's used to—

And then the electricity cuts out.

All three of them groan into the darkness.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Gueira whines, but Lio can't see his face anymore.

"At least the water's still hot," Meis mutters, dropping his hands from Lio's chest. "Gas bill got paid, right?"

That creeping, unnamed feeling finds its way back into Lio's core. "Yeah. Gas is fine. Electric usually gives us warning before cutting the power, though—"

"Boss," Meis interrupts. "When's the last time we paid that?"

Lio's answer is quiet, and he gets a little water in his mouth when he says "two months ago".

Another collective groan echoes through the dark bathroom. 

"Seriously, Lio? Why didn't you ask us for help with that? I coulda nabbed a whole transmission by now, or at least a damn radio—"

"No," Lio says, cutting Gueira off. "You know what I think about that sort of thing."

Someone knocks over a shampoo bottle.

"Yeah, yeah, you and your high horse—"

"You're still on probation."

"Ow— hey, man, you're standing on my foot—"

"Fuck you, I can't see."

"Guys?" Lio says, raising his voice. "This isn't sexy anymore, and now I feel like shit."

Meis and Gueira grunt, as if that means anything. 

"Hey, stop that," Gueira says, before a hand comes to rest on the approximation of Lio's face. "Yeah, this blows, but you're not pullin' that self-deprecating bullshit again. Capiche?"

Another hand snakes its way around Lio's waist, pulling him backwards into warmth again. "You know what all the group therapy handouts said about reframing a bad situation."

"I hated group therapy," Lio mumbles, but there's a gentle touch on the back of his neck now, and he automatically leans into it.

"Well, whatever," Gueira says, before he's softly kissing into the dip of Lio's collarbone. "Point being, you suck, but we love you, and this is kinda funny, actually."

Lio wants to tell him it's _not_ funny, because he's tired of making mistakes, but then a tongue finds his nipple. He lets out a gasp, and then a cry, because someone's soapy hand finds the _other_ one, too.

"Did we just have the same idea," Meis asks Gueira with honey in his voice.

The tongue turns into a mouth, and it sucks against Lio's sensitive bud before pulling back with a wet pop. "Yup."

Meis pulls teasingly at Lio's other nipple, letting it slip around his sudsy fingertips before twisting it ever so gently. Lio hums in the back of his throat.

"You know, Lio, these are lookin' real cute these days," he's told, behind his ear. He shivers. "Soft, too. Suits you."

"Mmmhmm," Guiera agrees, still kissing and sucking hot circles against him. He brings his hand up to rest on Lio's hipbone, where he gently massages his thumb into the divot. 

Lio's too breathless to respond to any of that, so he grinds back against Meis, feeling an already-hard length against the curve of his ass. 

"Move," Gueira grunts, and Lio's not sure who he's talking to, but _oh_ , his mouth's on the other side now. This ones more sensitive, he learns, as Gueira lets his lips linger, breath hot and shuddery over Lio's skin. 

Meis' hand reappears around his throat. 

It's careful and pressureless, considering they're standing in a hot shower— but Lio whines as he's pulled back tighter, flush against Meis' body again. He feels an arm reach around the front of his body, down, lower, until he's being stroked with something slick and soft.

He chokes out a laugh.

"Okay, who brought that in here," he says accusatorially, before the soapy silicone sleeve pushes all the way down to the base of his cock and he _whines_.

"Clearly wasn't a bad idea," Meis chuckles, keeping his pace steady. Gueira rearranges, and if the _thud_ against the floor of the shower means anything, he's on his knees.

Lio's warm and confused now, because he loses track of their hands. Meis is still stroking him off, and every pump of his hand is tighter, more unpredictable. The toy is open-ended, and if they could see, Lio's heavy pink cockhead would be peeking out, dripping with pre-cum— 

Gueira's too good to him, too kind to him, as he opens his mouth to lick against his slit.

Lio keens forward, and Meis drags him back.

"You know," Meis suggests, his voice thick and hot against Lio's nape, "There's two of us here. Maybe you should start thinkin' about whose name you're gonna say when you come for us."

Lio's breath is thin in his lungs, but he smirks against Meis' jaw. "Who says I have to choose—"

"Maybe," Gueira says, his mouth briefly leaving Lio, "He doesn't wanna say either of our names, Meis."

With a jolt to his gut, Lio knows where this is going already, but the lick to his ear leaves him gasping—

"I'd tell him to say anything he wants, Gueira. I'm sure there's _someone_."

"Can't think of who that'd be."

Meis removes the stroker, and Lio huffs in betrayal. He runs his fingers through Gueira's hair, all slicked-back and wet with lukewarm water, and he pulls him forward, pressing himself back into Gueira's stupid, traitorous mouth as far as he can fit—

And there are hands all over now, rubbing and pulling and massaging him, grazing back and down until they're fingers gently _pressing_ into his entrance, one by one, long and deep, and Lio comes with a _cry,_ and he does not say Galo's name as he feels Gueira open his throat.

He does not say Galo's name as he gasps for breath and loses feeling in his knees.

He hangs supported between his friends of ten years, his partners of four, and he feels loved, and ashamed, and he hates them for this. But he does not say Galo's name, because he can't say anything at all—

When he heads into work, he can't look at Galo for the rest of the night.

***

The interior walls of Foresight Civil Solutions are tall and white and paneled with frosted glass. Galo knows that Kray has better taste than that, but these government-types like things sterile. _Blank canvases make good foundations, Galo,_ he'd explained, then pointed to an art installation in the lobby that kind of looked like a kidney.

Bo-ring!

But today isn't about art, it's about action. 

Galo stomps past the Kidney with a stack of paper tucked haphazardly into a briefcase. He swipes his ID card through a reader, same as he always does, then proceeds into a series of fancy hallways.

With every step, he rehearses words in his head. 

_Takings Clause! Takings Clause! Takings Clause!_

He jogs up a stairwell, because he hates how fast the elevators move. 

_Municipal garnishment of private property has no legal basis without specific public necessity!_

Floor nine! Floor ten! Galo Thymos is on fire, baby!

His heavy footfalls echo against metal and plaster for ten more floors before he finally reaches the top of the building. He doubles over, breathless and burning, and knows tomorrow's gonna be a painful day in Thigh City.

After catching his breath, he swipes his ID card against another door, and bursts into the foyer outside Kray Foresight's private office.

The PA on duty doesn't look up from her tablet.

"Hello, Galo."

"Hey Biar," he wheezes, hand in the air. "Gov free?"

She doesn't even move a manicured finger to check the day's agenda. "No," she says, offering no additional details.

Galo swings his briefcase onto an empty chair and plops down next to it, still dripping with sweat. "Aw, come on. I peeped his Gmail calendar last week, I KNOW he's not doing anything 'til two."

Biar breathes in deep and long. Her pretty eyelashes flutter shut in quiet self-control. "Who gave you access to that."

The chairs clack together whenever Galo moves. "I've always had access to it!"

"Of course you have," she hums.

Galo begins to wonder if she'll even let him in. She's a smart gal, maybe ten years older than him tops, and she's not as easy to convince as Kray's previous assistants. _At least Phaena could be bought with flattery and a caprese sandwich,_ he pouts.

But through her practiced silence, Biar keeps glancing up at him. She watches him bounce his leg (which shakes the floor)— stares at him running his hands through his shiny, _sticky_ hair that keeps brushing against the wall art behind him— and finally, she cracks.

She presses a button on the intercom.

"Sir, you've got a— Galo's here," she says, flat and waiting.

There's a radio silence on the other end, but Galo knows that's just the system delay. Probably.

Kray buzzes back to her.

"Thank you, Biar. Send him in."

And ka- _ching_ , Galo Thymos is back in the game!

Two oversized glass doors swing open on a timer. Galo proceeds inside as professionally as he can, because as tight as he is with the Gov', he knows he's here to discuss important, ethical matters.

Kray Foresight looks up from his paperwork and offers Galo a smile.

It's the same one he always gives, warm and attentive and wise. Galo's been getting that smile for twenty years now, and he'll never grow tired of seeing it.

After all, Kray is more than his boss, or just a fancy name on a ballot.

He's... well. He's family.

Granted, Galo doesn't always get to see him, and they haven't had the chance to hang out together since... uhhhh, Galo's senior year of high school? But it's fine. He gets it. People have priorities.

And today, Galo's priority is Lio.

He opens his mouth to speak, to say _Takings Clause! Fifth Amendment!_ like he'd rehearsed, but Kray's the first to start.

"Uncanny timing, Galo. I'm glad you're here," he says, in that placid, airy voice.

"Uh— is it? Are you?" Galo asks, his lip going slack in confusion. "Wassup?"

Kray gestures for him to take a seat. This one swivels, and Galo has to try _really_ hard not to swivel.

"I've taken a look at your last negotiation brief. Fantastic work." Kray pulls up a dossier on his iPad, turning it around for Galo to see. "You've got a talent for finding common ground. That's an invaluable resource to have in our campaign. Especially coming from someone as..."

He quietly scans over Galo.

"... Publicly palatable as yourself."

Galo's not sure how to take that, but it sounds like a compliment. He scratches the back of his neck. "Aw, it's really no big. I'm just excited to be forming alliances that matter. 'Sides, I want you re-elected. Can't change the world without good people on top, yeah?" he says, hoping Kray catches the praise.

Foresight hums, his expression unchanging.

And then, in a sudden invigoration of movement, he navigates to a different app on the tablet.

"You're right, Galo. That's why I think this'll be a good opportunity for you." He swipes to a page with empty text fields, and slides it over to Galo.

It's a job application.

"Uh... what," Galo mumbles, brow furrowed. "What opportunity?"

"I'd like to promote you to Legislative Director. I think it'd be good for your growth. Granted, you'll have to be officially hired through the system, so fill this out for technicality's sake."

The web page is a responsible white and blue, and the title at the top says _Openings: Remote_.

Galo's eyebrows droop further down his face. He brings a finger up to the screen and scrolls all the way to the bottom, all the way to the top again.

He feels... happy. 

Confused.

"This says 'remote?'" Galo asks, looking up to Kray for an explanation. "This an off-site gig or somethin'?"

Kray's overstuffed seat swivels too, but it also reclines. Kray sits back comfortably in his throne.

"Yes, you'd be responsible for the team at the new campus," he explains. "We're currently recruiting for positions. You can expect to transition over within the year."

Galo squints. "What new campus?"

"You haven't looked over the expansion packet yet? It's lovely. The contractors sent mockups last week. I'm especially proud of the courtyard idea," he says, and Galo's mind is _sprinting_. "Three-hundred native species of flora, and a self-irrigating network of groundwater. A natural preserve, right outside our own offices."

Galo stares at the iPad. His voice is low and cautious. "I never got an expansion packet."

"Have you cleaned your inbox?"

"I never heard about an _expansion_ ," Galo stirs. "Where's this expansion going? This isn't in another city, is it? I just got settled—"

"You won't be required to move, Galo. I know how much your work at the station means to you. I'd never ask you to give that up for my sake."

Galo shakes his head. He's swiveling now too, but he doesn't care anymore. "This is— look, Gov', this is an honor, I mean it. I just— why didn't anyone tell me about this? Where are we getting the budget for this sort of thing?"

"Taxpayers have a right to utilize public property, and they have a right to urban renewal. And since our offices are a place of public servitude, we intend to allocate funds in an agreeable manner." He pauses to take a sip of water. "The intended property should be condemned within a month or so. Red tape, but nothing that should impact your transfer."

Everything Galo's touching feels like it lights on fire. Of course. Of _course_. Suddenly, foolishly, he remembers why he came here, and his hands fall flat on the surface of Kray Foresight's desk.

"No," he says, eyes wide and glassy. 

"Pardon?" Kray asks, tilting his head.

" _No,_ " Galo repeats, more fiercely than before. "No, you can't. Not there. I know what you're doing."

"Excuse me, Galo?" the politician says. "What's this all about?"

Every breath is hot and smoky. Galo's nostrils flare. "You're going to tear down a private business just so you can build a cushier _office?!_ —"

"This is government property, Galo, it belongs to the State! You of all people should know that—"

"No! _Apparently_ I don't know anything!" he says, slamming his briefcase down on Kray's desk and clicking it open. He fists a sheet of paper and whips on his reading glasses. "The Takings Clause of the Fifth Amendment of the United States of America says _no person shall be deprived of private property without due process of law._ Law states that eminent domain cannot occur without a valid public necessity, or fair and agreed upon compensation!" 

He huffs, rubbing the side of his face. Kray watches with patience and authority, and Galo feels like a child again, begging for a Gameboy Color, pleading for a red and white birthday cake with a firetruck on top.

There's a moment of silence, and then Kray asks "Is that all, Galo?"

The fire in Galo feels an awful lot like tears in his eyes.

Kray continues with a sympathetic look. "If this is about the lot on South 90th Avenue that burned up last week, then yes, it both meets a public necessity, and has been offered fair recompense." 

"Has it?" Galo says, stiff where he's standing now. "Is it really _fair_ if you just wipe the damn thing out of existence? People _like_ it there, Gov'! People make a living at that bar! You just expect me to stand by while you destroy everything they've worked towards—"

"About— that, Galo," Foresight interrupts him, calmly and effortlessly. He takes another sip of water. "About that. I know you hold some sentiment in that establishment, Galo. It's only natural to feel that way after saving a building from a fire. I know. I've been there. I felt that way too, when I was working as a volunteer fireman. But fire's not the only thing that causes destruction," he says, meeting Galo's wary gaze.

When Galo doesn't say anything, doesn't know what to say at _all,_ Kray's tone grows somber. "The DA has reason to believe the fire at that establishment was a pre-meditated act of insurance fraud. You shouldn't feel too sorry to see it go."

Galo feels his throat close up. His voice is hard to find.

"What? No," he says, shaking his head.

"Frustrating, I know."

" _No,_ Gov', that's not right! I was there! It was an electrical fire, I know what caused the damn thing—"

"The owner of the bar is forty-four thousand dollars in debt. He has a laundry list of criminal offenses, ranging from unpaid parking tickets to the illegal possession of narcotics. He has been previously indicted for arson and _patricide_ , Galo, this cautionary tale writes itself—"

"He's a good person and none of that matters!" Galo says before he can stop himself. "It was an electrical fire from a faulty appliance, hell! I _used_ the damn thing to make a _bagel_ , for Christ's sake! I even _told_ them it was—"

But Kray is squinting now. He swallows, and Galo notices the vein on his neck.

"Told them it was what, Galo?"

For a brief moment, Galo's standing behind the bar again. It's his third visit, and he watches Meis rub Lio's shoulder. Lio teases Galo, flirts with Galo, and Galo falls for it—

_This thing's a fire hazard_.

He unplugged the toaster oven.

"No," Galo whispers to himself. 

Kray Foresight watches him, like a hawk, like a parent.

Like family.

"Galo."

"No, that's not— no."

"Galo," Kray repeats. "The simplest explanation is always the likeliest. I'm sorry."

But Galo's already gathering up his papers, already snapping his briefcase shut again and backing out of the room. He rips off his reading glasses and throws them in the trash can by the door, because he's upset, and he's an idiot, he's an _idiot_ —

But he's not stupid.

"You're wrong," is all he says, before he slams the double doors.

***

Galo Thymos shows up to work his shift at the Slowburn later that afternoon. 

He can't look at Lio for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like self-elected quarantine to really force your creative productivity! Sorry if I update too quickly, I have cabin fever.
> 
> Also if it's not evident enough (I know dmab trans headcanons aren't always as prevalent in fanfic), Lio's poppin Spiro & E for that anti-boy juice. I'm trying to like.. show it's a Thing that Exists in Lio's life as a nonbinary person without explicitly shouting it from the rooftops every paragraph, but I know a lot of people aren't clued in to that sort of thing irl, so. Hope that... works?


	6. Crisis, And Definitely-A-Date

Lio has a panic attack when Galo spreads the news.

It's a slow Saturday afternoon, an hour after Opening, and Galo's nursing a rum n' coke instead of his usual pale ale. It's not often that he drinks— not often he's here on his day off at all— but there's no easy way to tell a friend they've got a big storm coming.

No easy way to ask them to be honest with you, either.

So Galo keeps his mouth shut, churning butter with his cocktail straw (that Lio gave him without asking first— c'mon, Lio, _that kills turtles_.) It's only when the blonde decides to be _concerned_ for his dejected state that Galo gets the guts to pop the question.

"You'd tell me if you did something... bad, right?"

On the other side of the bar, Lio crinkles his nose.

"Of course not."

But that's what Galo expected to hear. He tries a different angle.

"Okay. Follow-up question. You'd tell me if you did something _illegal_ , even if you thought you were doing something _necessary_. Right?"

The soda gun in Lio's hand sputters to a stop. A trickle of tonic leaks down his wrist. He chases it with his mouth.

"Galo," Lio says, lips against his own skin. "What's this about."

Pathetically, Galo slouches forward, down, down— until he's mumbling into a wet napkin. Maybe the second drink was a bad idea.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, okay? I gotta ask. I already know the answer, but I gotta ask."

The tinny, somber trumpet of a jazz recording floats out into the empty barspace. Lio leans back against the liquor cabinet, eyes unreadable. "Okay. What's up," he says, tucking his fingertips into the front of his half-apron.

There's a deep breath from Galo, before he regains his posture.

"You'd tell me if you blew up your toaster oven for insurance reasons, right?"

Gueira Lastname racks the pool table and silently straightens up.

Meis— no surname given— steps back in from his hour-long smoke break.

And Lio Fotia, Owner-Operator of the Slowburn Bar & Grill— once bitten, twice paroled— blinks.

Again.

And again.

And then—

"Excuse me?"

Galo stutters out a string of guilty noises. "I— um, you—"

"Why would I—"

"I know, I know!" he bursts, color rising high on his cheeks. "It's a stupid question! Just— humor me, wouldya?"

The furnace behind Lio's eyes turns on. He curtly tucks his hair behind his ears. "Fine. Sure. I've never— what was it? Blown up my toaster oven?"

"For insurance reasons," Galo earnestly adds.

"For _any_ reason, officer," Lio snorts, smirking bitterly. "You want an official testimony or what?"

Galo deflates, because this was _not_ the way he wanted this to go.

Truly, in his heart and soul, he knows that Lio's innocent. No one as hard-working, humanitarian, and frankly _myopic_ as Lio would ever devise a plan to self-destruct. Galo looks at him, and sees a fire that refuses to die. He sees a leader of a community that needs him. He sees Lio leaning forward, all heat and bristles and challenge, but Galo knows a defense mechanism when he sees one.

"No. I don't want a testimony. But the DA does."

Lio squints, inches away from Galo's face. They lock each other in a stare. "Sorry, one more time?" he asks, low and quiet.

"The District Attorney. I talked to Kray. Foresight. Yesterday, before I came in for my shift. He said the DA's mounting a case against you for insurance fraud."

Galo watches the change in Lio's shoulders as he backs away from the bartop. He watches Lio's corners all fold up, smaller and smaller, until he's got his arms tucked into himself.

"Why am I not surprised," is all he says.

Meis and Gueira move in closer now. One rounds the bar, one takes a seat, but both keep their eyes trained on Lio's back.

All but Lio talk at once.

"Boss—"  
"Um, look—"  
"Lio."

"Stop," Lio says, and Galo notices the way he breathes, just a little bit deeper. "Did he tell you anything else? Can you submit a field report, or— I don't know, doesn't your station keep logs? I thought this was already concluded to be accidental—"

Galo finds himself reaching forward, offering a hand. _The second drink was definitely a bad idea_.

Lio doesn't take it. Why should he?

"Look. All I know is that something's been set in motion, and it's on them to provide the burden of proof. I just wanted to— I don't know. Verify with you."

Lio's legs wander over to the register, where his fingers start idly poking at the screen. "You believe them," he says flatly. "Why would you even think to ask?"

He shrugs off an attempt to be calmed— Gueira's hand jumps back in apology after it tried to soothe circles into Lio's shoulderblades. Instead, the blonde keeps prodding buttons on the Square app.

"I don't believe them, Lio," Galo says, scooting his empty glass aside. "I know what I saw. Maybe your outlets are shitty, or maybe someone spilled water on the cord. That thing was overdue to start smokin' anyway." He wishes he sounded sure of himself. "I just— needed to hear it from you. For my own sanity. That's all."

And while that's the truth, Galo doesn't see the doubtful look Meis exchanges with Gueira. All he sees is Lio, moving quicker, spine perfectly straight.

Lio doesn't reply. He hits print, and the daily sales report feeds out on receipt paper. He writes the hourly numbers on a spreadsheet, logs out of his account on the register, and drops his pen on the floor.

When he leans down to retrieve it, seconds pass. He doesn't stand back up.

"Fuck," Gueira mutters, dropping down next to him. "Boss. Lio, hey."

Faster than Galo can crane his neck upward to see, Meis scoots out of his seat and rushes around the bar. He drops out of sight too, but the top of his head's still visible. The both of them shield around Lio, who Galo realizes is hyperventilating.

"Easy, Boss," Meis tries. "Just like last time, yeah?"

"Slow breaths, babe," Gueira adds, and the pet name shoots through Galo like an arrow.

They've done this before, then. They've been through these motions already, holding their hurt in each others' hands, and Galo isn't supposed to be here. He's not supposed to watch Lio shudder and choke for air, and he's not supposed to feel his heart rip apart in sympathy, and he's _definitely_ not supposed to jump the bar on impulse, jerk his hand into the ice box, and crouch down to Lio's level—

"Hold out your wrist?" he hears himself ask, more quietly than anything he's said tonight.

The other two furrow their brows in warning, but Lio, eyes screwed shut, hiccups "why".

Gently, Galo edges closer. "Gonna help." The ice in his palm is already starting to melt.

To his credit, Lio wastes no time in complying. He juts out his forearm, still shaking, and Galo cradles Lio's hand in his own.

Slowly, he lets the cold meet Lio's skin.

The temperature shock makes him gasp in surprise— his arm reflexively pulls back, and Galo lets it go. He knows better than to make him feel trapped, so he patiently waits for Lio to try again.

This time, he lets a few icy drops fall onto Lio's wrist first, acclimating him to the sensation. He wraps his hand around him again, warming his fingers, rubbing circles into his palm, and Lio seems to relax some.

"Breathe with me, yeah?" he instructs, and Lio forcibly nods. "In for five."

A sputter, and a quick succession of gasping, but Lio makes it to five.

"Out for seven."

Lio deflates, long and shuddery. 

"Good. Again," Galo squeezes his palm, gently running the ice along the length of Lio's veins. "In for five."

Gueira and Meis drop their hands from Lio's shoulders, and Galo nods in approval. Lio's overstimulated, and an outpouring of love would only make things worse.

"Out for seven."

Lio succeeds again.

They continue this pattern, counting numbers and breaths until the fight-or-flight urge leaves his body, and it dawns on Galo that he's _relieved_ — more than he should be. More than he usually is, anyway, when he has to de-escalate victims of fires, or help Lucia come down from hypomania. He's grateful for those moments too, of course, but he's never felt so _afraid_ of failing someone before.

He's never felt an infestation of butterflies in his gut after a rescue mission.

So when he lets Lio's hand drop, and watches Meis guide him back into his office for respite, Galo rises to his feet, nods to Gueira, and decides to drown the bugs.

He orders another drink.

It's 5 o'clock on a Saturday, after all.

***

Gueira watches a tispy Galo Thymos throw an ice cube down the floor drain.

He's never really cared for the guy. Puts up with him, sure. Muscles like those would be a shame to waste, and Gueira's got this system going where he trades the guy a coupla' pizza rolls in exchange for all the heavy lifting. Hell, he's practically got him conditioned him by now— last time he walked in late, Thymos moved the kegs without even being asked.

'Course, he chalked it up to "being a good worker" and "wanting to do something nice" for a change, but Gueira knows that's bullshit.

 _Pizza. Rolls._ He buys 'em by the 10lb bag now.

Um. Anyway. Galo Thymos is a goddamn dog, and he's never liked him, and he and Meis agree that Boss has shit taste in men (exhibits A and B right here, after all). But seeing that just now, that paramedic-bedside-manner, the way he grounded Lio like an angel in a god damn Sarah McLachlan song? Well.

Maybe he doesn't suck as hard as Gueira thought.

"Hey. Thymos," he says, jabbing him in the ankle with his boot.

But like, politely.

Galo looks over at him, eyes wide, completely unfazed. "Yeah?" he asks. His face is all drinky and bright, like the fucker knows he just swooped in and saved the day. Gueira remembers that Lio likes a show-off.

Again. Exhibits A and B. 

God, Lio's doomed.

"That was real cool of you," Gueira eventually says, leaning up against the bar. "You learn that in fire school?"

Galo sips the watery dregs of his third drink. "Learn what, the ice thing? Sorta," he shrugs. "From medic training. It's called TIPP."

And because Gueira's twelve years old, he lets out a snort. "Sorry. It's called what?"

"TIPP—"

"One more time? The what?"

"The t— No, not _the_ TIPP, just TIPP. It's an acronym," Galo says, totally oblivious. _God_ , he's stupid. What fun's he supposed to have if the guy can't even pick up on a well-seasoned dick joke? "It stands for Temperature, Intense Exercise, Paced Breathing, and— um. Something else." Galo tilts his glass back. The ice slides forward, hitting his face.

Gueira chuckles. "Aight, big boy. Whatever you did, thanks. It means a lot that you'd step up like that."

"Yeah?" he says, eyes big like a puppy. "I just— look. I know I was super wrong about all of you at first. I never even _considered_ the hoops you have to jump through just to get by, y'know?" He tucks his legs up under his chin, which would be cute, if he didn't have his filthy fucking boots all over the top of the barstool now. "I just wanna help. I've been fucking up since day one, and I'm glad to be given a second chance."

Gueira stares at him, long and hard— _haha, nice one Gueira_ — and decides Galo's still too sober.

He pours a shot of 151.

"Buddy, I hear you on that," he says, sliding the shot glass over to Galo. He eyes it suspiciously. "Let's get through this Foresight shit first though, or there won't _be_ any second chances. For any of us."

Gueira pours a second shot for himself and raises it in a toast.

"Um," is all Galo says, before clinking his glass against Gueira's. They knock it back together. There's a warm satisfaction in Gueira's chest as the poor schmuck coughs the alcohol down.

"About that," Galo tries again, vocal cords straining against the burn. "What's gonna happen if you lose the place? Or if Lio gets arrested?"

"For the DA thing you were talkin' about? Who knows." Gueira's voice is flat with resignation. "And Foresight only offered a couple grand in exchange for the property. Not nearly enough to start over again, 'specially not downtown or nothin'. Besides, if Lio's got an open warrant, well..."

Meis joins in, striding out from the kitchen. "Well what? Another day in the life, then. C'est la fuckin' vie." God, he's so sexy. Look at him, reaching down for a water bottle out of the mini fridge. Gueira really won the fuckin' Florida Powerball with this one. "But we know about this whole situation... how?"

Galo's still licking the Bacardi off the roof of his mouth, and Gueira almost pities him. "I heard it from Kray Foresight."

"Fucker," Meis says, slamming the fridge door shut.

"Yup," Gueira agrees.

Galo doesn't say anything.

"Tell you what, though," Meis continues, wrapping a free arm around Gueira's shoulder. "If there's a warrant goin' through the DA's office, then we've got some time. Every other goddamn criminal case in Promepolis finds its way onto that desk. I doubt they'll come knockin' 'til the very last second— or until Foresight pays them another fat wad of cash under the table."

Galo looks kind of queasy. "He wouldn't do that..."

Luckily, Gueira's a real gentleman these days, so he leans forward and pats Galo on the cheek. "Thymos. Galo. _Mon frère_. Get your head. Out your _ass_. And face reality," he tells him. "Your man's a sham. He probably eats babies. And he's _definitely_ not paying you enough."

Galo lets his feet drop back down to the floor. He rips a corner off his wet, sweaty napkin. "I just get a stipend..."

The music on the speakers changes to a boogie-woogie, right as Meis and Gueira start yelling.

"That's not a _salary_ , Thymos!"  
"You're not getting PAID?"  
"Galo, you march right in there and QUIT, young man, you hear me?"  
"I'm gonna tear him a new asshole with my bare ha—"

"I GET IT, I get it, okay!" Galo bursts, knocking over the empty shot glass in front of him. "It's a complicated situation! I can't just blow him off! He saved my _life!--_ "

And in the moment it takes for Gueira and Meis to formulate a response to that, Lio, a real Cindy Lou Who, pops his head out from behind the kitchen curtain. He clears his throat, and all three of them fall silent. 

He's been crying.

"Can I have that water now, Meis?" Lio says, voice small.

Meis and Gueira move in tandem, offering quick apologies and reassuring words, and Galo's left to watch them.

If Gueira could read minds, he'd understand Galo's apprehension. It's not something Galo's used to. He's never had a significant other— not one that's lasted any longer than a week or two. He's never seen someone so cared for— so lovingly _doted upon_ as Lio. It's odd, but it's nice how the three of them sync up; how they work for each other, how they share their goals and jokes and feelings.

If Gueira could read minds, he'd know how happy Galo is for Lio.

He'd know how grateful he is to be here.

But Gueira's not a mind-reader, and he's not all touchy-feely either. He just sees Galo look at Lio like Gueira looks at Meis: all warm and relieved and comfortable. He notices the way Galo smiles a million times brighter whenever Lio walks in the room, which is really fuckin' schmoopy, but can he blame the guy? Lio's trying his best.

They all are.

From within their three-person HyperHug, Gueira leans over to whisper in Meis' ear. The hottie with a body nods (and that's Meis, for the record, but if you wanna think that about Gueira, hell, knock yourself out).

"Boss," Meis says, unwrapping himself from Lio's tiny shoulders. "When's the last time you had a day off?"

Lio eyes the floor with disdain. "No."

"That's not an answer, Lio."

" _Liiio,_ " Gueira sing-songs, "We just learned our good buddy Galo here only gets Monopoly Money for his terrible government gig. Don'tcha think he deserves a reward for bein' such a bootlicker?"

"Hey!" Galo protests, but it goes ignored.

"Stop," Lio deadpans. "I don't know what you're getting at, but stop. I'm tired."

"Exactly our point, Boss," Meis shrugs, before he shoots a knowing glance to Gueira. "You're overworked, and you're dealing with more bullshit than any one person should ever have to deal with. Why don't the two of you take off for the night? Go have some fun or something?"

"Yeah, Boss, we'll hold down the fort. It'll be hard with this _massive crowd_ , but we'll manage."

From his seat at the bar, Galo raises his hand. "Uh, do I get a say in this?"

"No, dummy, you're drunk. What're you gonna do, drive home?"

"I'm not drunk, I had like—"

"The equivalent of three drinks in your last shot? Yeah, pal, you _will_ be drunk."

Galo makes a face that really should be immortalized on the wall, by all the sun-faded photos of petty thieves and banned patrons. Gueira almost expects him to storm out, with how scandalized he looks, but—

"Fine!" he says, throwing his hands back, "I respect to your ability to comply with the law! I GUESS!" Galo slides off the barstool with very little grace and points at the door. "Get us an Uber if you're so smug about it!"

And that, dearest compatriotas, is how Gueira gets Lio a ride, a break, and a boyfriend.

He's the only one doin' any damn work around here these days.

***

They don't say much in the car. Lio's still grappling with reality; the potential that he could be _arrested_ any day now for _yet another crime he didn't commit_ is almost too much to think about. Truth be told, he doesn't even know where they're going. Galo's playing some stupid game on his phone that keeps making high-pitched noises, and he's starting to look a little sweaty by now.

Whatever _fun_ the guys had in mind for him, babysitting a drunk wasn't _it_.

Fortunately, Galo seems to hold his liquor better than the average customer. Maybe it's all that meat on his body. Maybe it's all the takeout he orders. The guy's not even that big— five ten, maybe, but hard to tell with all that hair— so Lio keeps his hopes high and his shoes _away_ from Galo's vomit trajectory. Just in case.

Curiosly, they pull up to a roadside amusement park.

Galo clambers out and opens the door for Lio, who mumbles a thank-you to the driver. They're left to wander inside, under bulb lights and circus awnings, and Lio stops to read the entry sign.

_Prometh Palace Park._

"Galo?" he asks, his voice still raw and quiet.

Behind him, Galo finishes up a text and hits send. _Impressive._

"Wassup," he answers, pocketing his phone.

"Why are we here?"

And with the greatest spark of energy a human body's capable of emitting, Galo leap-yells "Mini golf!!!"

_Lord, watch over them._

"I don't think I'm feeling up to that right now," Lio grunts, but he follows Galo's business-walk down a cobblestone path anyway. They weave around ticket booths and lighted snack stalls, already buzzing with fluorescents against the sunset. Lio admits he's never been here— never even knew it existed. He'd never had a reason to take the highway this far north.

Galo, on the other hand, could maneuver this place blind. He keeps turning around to face Lio, walking backwards as he emcees his own tour of the park, and Lio keeps a silent count of every near-collision. Two trash cans, four children, and one oversized prize bear, all narrowly and mercifully spared from Galo's drunken body weight.

Eventually, they reach the far end of the property, where a dainty fenced-off area houses strips of green felt and miniature buildings. Garden lights turn on with dusk's approach, illuminating concrete pathways and pairs of teenagers wandering off-course to do _god knows what_.

Galo beams. "Here we are! Time to smack some balls around with sticks!"

Lio tries his best not to snort-- Galo doesn't deserve the credit, because it _really isn't funny_ , but he fails.

"You're confident in your ability to do that?" Lio asks, as he wanders under the wrought-iron entry gate and heads toward the payment booth. "Didn't take you for the type, Thymos."

"Oh, I'm MEGA good at ball-smacking," Galo answers, within earshot of the park employee. "The golf kind and the other kind!"

"Christ, you're drunk," Lio huffs, giving Galo a bump to the shoulder. "I'm paying this time. You can't be trusted with finances like this."

And luckily, Galo doesn't protest, because Lio's not sure how much protest he can take right now. He needs quiet. He needs things to go smoothly. He needs—

"The purple one! Like your eyes," Galo says, dropping a dirty golfball in his hands. They grab their clubs and par sheets and head for the first hole.

It looks simple enough. Straight path, twenty feet or so, with a little volcano-shaped mound at the end of it. Eighteen of these, and they'll be able to go home.

Galo oh-so-graciously tells Lio to go first.

Trouble is, Lio's never _done_ this before.

He stares at the little rubber mat near his feet. It's got small indentures, presumably where the ball's supposed to sit before you putt it, but there's like, five of them? He ventures a guess that the middle divot will produce the best outcome for a _straight-shot_ down the _straight course_. He sets his purple ball down, pulls back on the golf club, and anticipates a decent outcome.

Three shots later, and his ball rolls into a pond... on the other side of the fence.

" _Why_ are we _here_ ," he moans. "Why do you _like this!_ "

But Galo's already jogging back to the entry hut for another golfball, and he's back within a minute. He plops it into Lio's sweaty hand and beams. The new one's lime green.

"We're here 'cuz I wanted to apologize for earlier! For the way I made you worry 'bout all that stuff. And besides, it's fun. You're just not doing it right." He motions for Lio to stand in front of him, putter in hand, legs apart. Before Lio can think to stop him, he's bringing his big arms up around his waist—

But then Galo immediately recoils. "Oh. My bad. I should ask. Can I like? Get close n' put my hands on you for a sec?"

Through the sudden burning heat on Lio's cheeks, he nods.

"Coolskis," Galo chuckles, though he sounds a little quieter than before. Lio's very glad to be facing away from him. "Okay, so—"

He feels Galo's entire body wrap around him, warm and sticky and unfortunately _nice_. There's a small pocket of space between them— Galo's caution and politeness is appreciated, but his dumb beefy body is too big to keep them fully separated. Lio's hands get covered too, by calloused, helping palms, and his traitorous mind flashes back to a certain shower in the dark.

_Do NOT think about fucking Galo. Do NOT think about fucking Galo._

Together, they putt a hole-in-one. Together, they bellow out a victory howl, and despite everything— the anxiety in his chest, the exhaustion in his brain, the leftover hurt and distrust between them— Lio sees the smile on Galo's face, feels a lightness in his heart, and dies.

Utterly fucking dies. Right there. On the green.

Obituary as follows: Lio Fotia, age 31. Born 1989, to Jodine and Harry Fotia of Bristol, England. Raised in Livonia, Michigan, resident of Detroit proper after Jodine and Harry decided to burst into flames. Resident of Promepolis, California after thoroughly Done With That Shit. Died 2020, cause of death: _fondness_.

_Do NOT think about kissing Galo._

Do not hug him, or enjoy his company, or _like_ him. Do not get close to him, or anyone else, because you're _going to get arrested_ , and you're _going to go to prison_.

Lio drops his smile and breaks away, shuffling toward the next hole.

***

By the time they've finished all eighteen, Lio's become a savant.

Competition always brings out the best in him. He's beaten Galo's third-best score (which Galo knows off the top of his head, naturally), and managed to finish under par. Give it two or three more practice runs, and Galo Thymos would face a dangerous foe yet.

But Lio keeps reminding himself that there shouldn't _be_ another day like this. Galo's got a future, and Lio's got. Well. An under-the-table rental unit? An inability to hold an office job?

A soon-to-be-open warrant?

"Hey," Galo nudges him. "Eat your corndog, you'll like it."

Lio stares down at the paper boat filled with ketchup, mustard, and fried food. He sighs.

"I'm sorry."

"Woah, woah woah. Whatcha got to be sorry for, huh?" Galo asks, leaning down into his space again. He's sobering up some, which makes the closeness all the more intentional— all the more baseline _Galo_.

"I keep bringing down the mood," Lio shrugs. "You took me here for a reason, I guess, and I'm not able to fully appreciate it. It's selfish of me."

Galo shakes his head. "Yooooo. No way. I told you _I'm_ the one apologizing tonight. You're not selfish for having _feelings_ , okay? You had a hard ass day, and like, who cares! I come here all the time anyway."

"Not with me, though." Lio pushes the stick end of his corn dog around, rolling it through the mustard. "I know how special it is to share things you care about. With someone new, for the first time. I feel like I robbed that experience from you."

Galo Thymos is anything but a quiet man, but he's thoughtful when he wants to be. He sits on his hands and watches Lio poke at his food before he opens his mouth to say anything else.

"We can always come back," he says, shrugging like it's nothing serious, but the shakiness in his voice suggests otherwise. "On bad days, you know? When the universe is out to get you, and you're angry, but there's not a whole lot you're allowed to get angry at? We can come back here. And like. Hang out."

Lio studies the way he stares at the concrete tabletop, face illuminated by an overhead light. His eyes are somewhere distant.

"Galo," Lio asks. "How long have you been coming here?"

He shrugs.

"'Bout twenty years now."

Lio blinks.

"Who'd you come with before me? When you were angry, I mean."

Galo shrugs again, even more noncommittally. He takes a long sip out of his soda cup. "A friend. At first. We stopped coming when I was like, twelve, I guess, so I just took the bus here by myself after that."

Somehow, Galo's shoulder's close now, touching Lio's. He's slouching.

"That's a shame."

"He got busy. It's okay."

Lio nods.

He thinks he understands, now.

"We can come back," he says, as his stomach twists. "I'd be willing."

And it's like watching kindling catch flame, with the way Galo grows back into himself. "Yeah?" A small smile breaks the surface of his face again. Lio feels bad for giving him hope. 

Lio feels bad for giving _himself_ hope.

He takes a bite of his corndog, and enjoys it. He steals a sip of Galo's soda— orange Fanta— and smiles in return.

Galo doesn't move his shoulder away.

Instead, he's quiet, close enough to lean on, and he breathes out a laugh as he asks "Can I kiss you?"

Lio's heart is in his throat as he registers the question. He sets his corndog down, looks at Galo's blue, blue eyes, and feels the world collapsing beneath him, but _god_ , does it make him _giddy_.

Reluctantly, he shakes his head.

"Ask me again when you're sober."

He chuckles as Galo _grooooaaaans_ , leaning backwards off of the bench. "Liooooo! Why you gotta do me like this!"

"Complaining will get you nowhere, Galo Thymos," Lio smirks, patting Galo on the chest. "And stop that, you'll pull your back out."

Galo ignores him, still whining. "What will NOT complaining get me?"

"A hug and a goodnight text, if you play your cards right."

And to his benefit, he does. Galo finishes off the night with a supple amount of water, a final tour of his favorite rides (to be ridden when next they return, he promises), and a tipsy race to the parking lot, in which Lio Fotia concedes to running in public.

Sue him for indulging a cute guy with _something_ , tonight.

They share an Uber back to town, and Lio gets dropped off first. He makes good on his promises— hugs Galo goodnight, teases a hand through his hair, and crosses the threshold into his shitty basement apartment with shitty cell reception. Gueira and Meis are due off in an hour, so he curls up under a blanket and sits in comfortable silence.

He pulls out his phone almost immediately.

 _Thank you, Galo,_ he writes. _Sleep well_.

Heart emoji.

It goes through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I feel its necessary to disclose that the only experience I have with warrants/arrests/jailtime comes from some family members and my stupid ex boyfriend, so I'm really just parroting a lot of what I remember and it's probably WAY off base. I definitely don't want to make light of our prison industrial complex for the sake of fanfiction but I'm also here to kindly remind you how hard it is for a lot of these folks post-release, esp wrt jobs, renting, community support etc :(
> 
> \- I know Gueira's got like. A canon voice. But I literally can't _not_ hear Dustin Hoffman as Ratso Rizzo when he speaks in my head
> 
> \- My parents take me mini-golfing every time we get together and I'm REALLY BAD AT IT help me Galo ;;
> 
> \- If you actually try the TIPP thing please use a cloth around an ice pack so you don't damage your skin!
> 
> -This is about 60% of the story so far and it's going to get kind of messy from here on out so I will... try my best... to keep a tight plot going... this is still a major challenge for me since my brain doesn't work in longform, but it's fun nonetheless!
> 
> Thank you for reading so far! My promare twitter is @gladburnish and I don't have any fandom interaction going on yet so feel free to say hi in these trying times.


	7. Mistakes

The halfway-house where they'd met each other was in Bullhead City, Arizona. It straddled the state line— sat itself right up against the banks of the Colorado River, where at night, they'd watch the casino lights from the Nevada side reach up and illuminate the underbelly of hot summer stormclouds.

Lio liked the dry air and the drier company. They weren't supposed to be drinking, so he'd picked up a Vanilla Coke habit instead. Meis warned it'd rot his teeth out. Something about the carbonation and the acid and the sugar eroding your enamel. Lio didn't talk to him much back then, but he thanked him for his unsolicited opinions nonetheless.

The other one, the guy who kept trying to get Lio to switch bed bunks with him, liked to complain about the lights at night. "Fuck Harrah's, fuck the Edgewater, and fuck the Golden Nugget." He hated the casinos because he used to work in them. Bartender gigs, he said. Never lasted long. He had a brash voice and a bad slouch, and he liked to follow Meis around the dining hall and the rec room. Lio guessed they'd known each other for a while. 

Afternoons were spent at work, the nature of which changed often. Jobs were assigned to him through the local temp agency. He wasn't sturdy enough to work in construction, nor did he have his high school diploma, which could've qualified him for office work. He considered himself lucky when he'd been handed a janitorial gig— it was quiet, simple, and rewarding. 

Dirty, sure. But he'd always liked dirty.

Meis would tell him all about his days at the auto body shop, where he worked as a paint tech on custom detail orders. He'd had the position for three months before he'd been arrested. "Hell," he told Lio, "they thought I'd quit without notice. Couldn't make bail, so I had to call my boss a week later from the inside to explain what happened. Didn't know when I'd be back out again." 

"How long until you were?" Lio asked, on a day he felt like asking.

"Few months. The first time."

Lio understood, and shared his Subway sandwich with him.

The ex-bartender who liked to complain moved into their room by winter, after a man named Kearney transitioned to Home Confinement. Lio noticed the way Meis laughed a little brighter now— the two of them shared jokes Lio didn't understand. He watched the way his roommates started using the same words, whether they intended to or not. Seamlessly, they amalgamated. Seemingly, they'd never been separate to begin with. And perched upon his tiny top bunk in their tiny concrete room, Lio listened to their conversations, and started to smile again.

"It's Gueira," he told Lio. "By the way."

He'd already introduced himself twice.

But that was okay. He liked Gueira almost as much as he liked Meis. He was unsurprised to learn they'd known each other for years— even had matching tattoos. But they never mentioned how they'd met, or how they'd ended up in Arizona, or how they'd both found their way into state custody together.

Truth be told, it wasn't Lio's business. He knew when to stop asking questions.

Unfortunately, Gueira didn't.

"So how 'bout you, Boss?" he tried one day, tilting his chair back at a dangerous angle. "What got you boned by the hard dick of the law?"

Meis snorted as he dealt another round of Uno cards. They were in the dining area, gathered around a wobbly table and a tv playing daytime soap operas.

"I'm your boss now, huh?" Lio hummed. He organized his cards by color, not number.

"Figure of speech. Boss, champ, buddy, you know. You're young."

"Twenty-two in February."

"Bull _shit_ you are."

Lio played a Wild Card, Draw +4 against Gueria. He changed the rule to "yellow," and watched his opponent struggle.

The nickname stuck, out of spite.

Lio didn't answer Gueira's question about his criminal history until they were day-drunk and freshly-released. Meis was the first to leave, so he'd rented a room from an old coworker. He'd always been good about getting his life back together, Gueira insisted. Meis had _self-restraint_ and, like, a real good therapist. "Guess he finally re-parented his inner child, or whatever it is we're supposed to be doing. You know, that woo-woo crap." 

Gueira needed time. 

Lio needed a new lawyer.

Eventually, he spent four months alone, after Gueira finally joined Meis in his freedom. Lio focused on earning his GED and keeping his head down. Same as before, when he'd been stuck in limbo, waiting for his trial in Detroit. Tamp the flames. Plan ahead.

Turns out, it was easy to compartmentalize your anger after all. He just needed to sacrifice his humanity first.

So when his release was finally, miraculously processed, and he'd finished his three-year sentence for the first crime he'd _actually_ committed in his life, he'd joined Gueira and Meis on a dirty couch and clinked beer bottles in a toast: to better days, to sticking together. To burning so bright, they'd be blinding.

They had friends over for a party. He'd never met them before. The idiot sitting on the floor in front of him with a cheap tattoo gun forgot to flip the stencil. 

"They cleared me of all charges for the homicide, sure, but the court of public opinion decided otherwise," Lio explained, head against Gueira's shoulder. He watched the scratcher ink another messy line on his palm. He couldn't really feel it, and he didn't really care anymore. It was beyond salvaging. It'd be a conversation piece at parties. "So I left, and I made a lot of bad choices after that."

Meis idly played with Lio's free hand, weaving their fingers together for the first time. Gueira jumped when an ambulence drove by, and his shoulder jabbed Lio in the temple. Lio frowned.

The lights from Nevada kept blinking on and off, painting the walls of the living room pink and blue. Lio's skin was warm. Lio's hand had a stupid, impulsive tattoo of Michigan on it now. God, it was ugly. He loved it.

"Do you... want to make some more bad choices? Together," Meis asked, after their guests had left, and the room stank of weed.

"Like a three-way?" Gueira smirked, while being utilized as Lio's personal body pillow.

"Like moving," Meis answered. "I got some friends in California. Offered a whole apartment. They need help running their business."

"What kind of business," Lio asked, with his face stuffed against Gueira's neck. "What would we be doing?"

Meis poured each of them a glass of water. "Bar. Grunt work, probably. Maybe you can get your liquor license again, babe. You still remember how to make a Harvey Wallbanger?"

Lio'd never heard Meis use a pet name before. Maybe he'd never paid close enough attention.

"God, no, I'm tired of bartending," Gueira groaned. "Can't we get a job doing, like. _Literally_ anything else."

"You could teach me," Lio said. "I'm a quick learner. Good at people-pleasing, too."

"Are you, though?" Gueria teased skeptically.

Lio kissed his neck, and heard a breathy gasp escape him.

"Looks like it," Meis chuckled, but something was wrong. He scritched Gueira's scalp as he passed him on the way to the kitchen, already cleaning up some of their dishes. Maybe he was trying to hide.

Lio felt a spike of shame, so he stopped making moves on Gueira. He pushed himself upright.

Did he just cross a line?

The room felt far away as he started to fill an empty Wal-Mart bag with napkins and food waste. He was crossfaded, but responsible enough to assist in the cleanup process. He's not sure when Gueira got up to join Meis, but when he looked over at the couch again, he was alone.

From the kitchen, Lio barely heard Meis' voice carry over the torrent of faucet water and clinking porcelain. There was rain on the roof now, and the aluminum car-port attached to the mobile home bounced heavy droplets off its surface. It was hot, and flash flood season would be starting again soon.

"Just... think about it," Meis said to Gueira, and Lio stopped eavesdropping.

***

Ten years later, Lio wakes up an hour after he nods off. He checks his phone for a reply from Galo.

Nothing yet. That's okay.

He tries to fall asleep again before Gueira and Meis get home. He doesn't. He throws a pillow over his face and feels guilty.

***

Galo intercepts him before he's even unlocked the Slowburn's front door.

" _You,_ " he accuses, pointing a finger at Lio, "Sent me a heart emoji last night."

So he did. 

Lio feels a smirk growing on his face like an allergic reaction. He casually shoulders past him, hooking his keys back onto his belt loop. They jingle as he hurries to disarm the security system across the room.

"Yo, don't ignore me," Galo chides, following him. He bumps into a rogue barstool, because Lio hasn't switched on the lights yet.

"I've got ten seconds to punch in this code, or the cops will be notified of a break-in. Do you think this is an appropriate time to get a cop's attention?"

"C'mooon, you hit the same numbers on the same keypad every day. Isn't that like, muscle memory by now?"

But Lio is unwavering. He trudges up to the alarm and pokes at it seven times. The tiny light on the front panel flickers and turns green.

He takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes. Visualizes his lungs filling up with fresh, cold air, instead of the stagnant musk that hangs around the pool table. He drops the dopey smile from his face-- he can't break character if he wants to play along with Galo's banter, after all.

In one brisk movement, he turns on his heel to face him, playfully reprimanding. "Ok. Sure. I sent you a goodnight text. You wanna talk about that?"

"I don't _wanna_ talk about it, but we _gotta_ talk about it," Galo says, crossing his big, juicy arms over his big, stupid chest. "I've got an hour before my shift at the station starts, so you better not make me cry, okay!"

Lio can't decide if he's joking or not, so he motions to the nearest 2-top and flips down both chairs. "Sit," he instructs. Under the table, he lets Galo's knees knock against his own. He doesn't move to adjust, and sure enough, Galo uncomfortably scoots backwards.

Oh. Maybe this encounter wasn't as playful as Lio thought.

They stare at each other in silence, before Lio raises an eyebrow expectantly. "Well?"

"Well!—" Galo starts, letting out a big puff of air. "First of all, I'm sorry for getting mega wasted last night. Sort of. It was mostly Gueira's fault, but I'm fine with taking accountability for his actions." _Christ, he's a jackass_. Lio fights the unfortunate, familiar fondness blooming in his chest.

Meanwhile, Galo's hand finds a chip in the table laminate, and he starts mindlessly picking at it. Lio makes a mental note to charge him for the damage later. "Second of all, um. I'm sorry I asked to kiss you. That wasn't cool. That was weird—"

"— That was fine," Lio interrupts, as placidly as possible. "I didn't think it was weird at all."

"Are you sure?" he asks, eyes wide and focused. "Like, you said 'no'..."

"I told you to ask me again when you weren't _piss drunk,_ " Lio corrects. "For both of our sakes."

Still, Galo's face scrunches up in confusion. The floor begins to vibrate, and for a moment, Lio's prepared for an earthquake— before he realizes Galo's bouncing his leg. 

"Wasn't that just an excuse to shoot me down? I mean, that's totally cool, I wouldn't want you to feel obligated—"

Lio winces. "What? No." He leans forward, trying to get a better read on Galo's face. Sunlight filters in through the skinny, dusty windows above the alcohol cabinets, and his eyes are starting to adjust to the dark, but it's not enough to tell what Galo Thymos is thinking. "Trust me, if I shot you down, you'd know. There'd be no question about it."

"Oh," is all he says. Lio watches him chunk off a patch of table laminate the size of his fist before he nudges Galo in the foot. "Sorry," Galo shrugs— and he's probably not apologizing for the property damage.

They steep together in another heavy, wordless haze.

"So, like... the heart emoji wasn't a pity thing?"

"Alright Thymos," Lio cracks, losing his patience. "Who fucked you over."

"What?"

"Clearly we're on different pages," Lio snorts incredulously. "I've been flirting with you. I've been giving you the green-light to flirt _back_ , if that's what you want to do. Why on earth would you interpret that as _pity?_ Who messed with your perception that badly?"

From the other side of the table, Galo shrinks into himself. He takes a moment to think, which strikes Lio as odd— he's never seen Galo _think_ before he speaks. Some of his too-long fauxhawk falls into his eyes, and he pushes it back with a fist. "People don't really... um. Like me, when I get all clingy?" he starts, shrugging. "I mean, like, it embarrasses them, I guess."

Lio crosses his legs and leans back in his seat. "Asking to kiss me _once_ isn't being _clingy,_ Galo," he tells him. "Believe it or not, expressing affection is normal."

"Psh. Easy for you to say. You've got TWO boyfriends."

"I've got two _partners_ , yes," Lio squints.

"Same diff," Galo shrugs again, leg bouncing faster.

"I find the difference to be kind of important, actually," Lio tilts his head in warning. "There's more than one way to love a person. Meis and Gueira are boyfriends. Meis, Gueira, and I are _partners_. I like what that label implies."

"Okay, Love Guru, what _does_ it imply?"

Lio hesitates. He wasn't prepared to answer that so suddenly. "Never mind. Point being. You shouldn't have to make yourself smaller to keep anybody happy. What was it you said last night? 'There's nothing wrong with having feelings'?" Lio tries, nudging Galo in the foot again. "I suggest you admit you have wants and needs sooner than later."

Galo blinks.

For a moment, Lio's convinced he's done a good job— he's played his part as proverbial Aesop, and they can move past this, and he can get to work on opening the bar. Galo stares at him, blank-faced— but then something percolates, and his face turns pink, and he slaps his hand on the tabletop. "Fine! You asked for it, so _here it is_. I think you're hot! And I think you're super cool, and kind of a brat, and I dig that a lot!"

Shocked, but unable to contain the fire in his eyes, Lio scoots in closer. "Good. Keep going."

"Sometimes I think you're a shitty boss, and half the time you're a big hypocrite, and it confuses me!" Galo huffs, and runs a hand through his fallen hair again. "But I also know you're trying your best, so I never want to call you out on it, because what if it scares you off, and you never speak to me again??"

_Oh_. Oh god. Go back to the compliments. 

Galo's words take a moment to sink in, and Lio fights back a string of bad reactions. Instead, he slow-blinks, and speaks directly to the tabletop. "Thank you for telling me all of that. Anything else you need to get off your chest?"

"Yeah, I think—!" Galo nearly shouts, speaking with his hands again— but then he smacks the hardwood he's been picking at, and sucks in a sharp, confusing breath. 

He stares at his fingertip in silence. 

It's weird. Lio's never seen him silent, before.

"Ow. Just got a splinter," he observes, and Lio doesn't like his tone. "We still got band-aids?"

"I'll go get one," he says, admittedly grateful to remove himself for a moment. He squeezes Galo on the shoulder without thinking, then steers himself on autopilot back into the kitchen.

Unfortunately, the supply closet takes _much too little_ time to get to, so he doubles back to pick up a fallen box of straws. He rearranges a stack of paperwork on his desk. Then, finally, after straightening out the floor mats with his shoe, he reaches for the first-aid kit and totes the entire thing back out with him.

Fuck. What _was_ it that made him give such a shit about this guy? How could Galo praise him, and offend him, and make him feel like he mattered, all at the same time?

Worse than that— how many complaints does he keep to himself? Does he really worry that Lio would desert him for having _opinions?_

He hears his own voice in his head again, asking the same question that'd gone unanswered:

_Who fucked you over, Galo Thymos?_

Lio washes his hands in the sink by the doorway before returning to the table. With a frown that he never intended to wear, Lio scoots his chair right up next to Galo's. He pops open the first-aid kid and fishes out an alcohol wipe. "Okay. My turn to express myself. I'm going to be brutally honest with you."

Galo lets his hand be turned over for inspection. "'Kay," he says, sounding reluctant.

"I think," Lio starts, tearing open the alcohol wipe with his teeth, "You're an arrogant jerk. I think your ego's probably bigger than your dick, but I wouldn't be too surprised if I were wrong. Not that that's any of my business, unless you want it to be. It sounds like you do," he says, before swabbing at Galo's finger. Of course, it stings, but Lio wonders if that's really the reason Galo flinches. "That being said. I think we both take criticism too personally. I also think a lot of that bravado's just a front you put on. You've got a big heart, and when you let yourself be _authentic_ , you genuinely brighten everyone's day." He balls up the alcohol wipe and sets it on the table. "At least for me, you do." 

Galo's got his mouth set in a neutral line, as if he doesn't know what to say, or how he should react. Lio's stomach drops, because he wonders if it was _too much_ , too hard on him, but then Galo looks down at his lap and smiles.

It's not a happy smile, but it's something.

"Do I?"

And whatever mechanism controls Lio's body— whatever that sensorimotor function is, the one that likes to bypass his critical thinking skills entirely— it raises Galo's hand up to his lips, where he gently kisses it, just below the splinter.

"You do," Lio says, eyes low, voice honest.

Galo doesn't try to pull away, so Lio kisses it once more (for luck, he thinks), and proceeds to unwrap a band-aid. It's one of the tiny ones, and it looks even smaller on Galo's sturdy hand.

"So... okay," he says, letting Lio finish the job. "If I like you, and you like me, then why does it feel like we're doing something wrong? Aren't we supposed to... I don't know, be closer, or be nicer to each other, or something?"

And hell, if it isn't a good question.

Lio's mouth quirks up in an odd, lamenting smirk. "Yeah, probably." He cradles Galo's hand in his lap, tracing a fingertip along the lines of his palm. "In a universe where things had turned out better for me, I think I'd let you into my life. Truth be told? Before yesterday, I'd seriously considered getting to know you better." _Amongst other fantasies._ He sighs, letting go of Galo's hand. "But I've got two other people to consider, and I can't afford to let anyone else down. Not when a future relationship with me involves conjugal visitation."

For just a quiet moment longer, Galo lets his hand rest. Then he pulls it back into himself, re-integrating it, using it to punctuate his words. "So that's it? You're just gonna roll over and give up?" he asks, and suddenly he's back to normal— powerful again. "What happened to the cocky asshole who pressured me into working here?"

"Courtrooms don't like cocky assholes," Lio says, shutting the first-aid kit. "My best bet's to wait for an arrest, and pray for one hell of a defense attorney."

Galo pokes him in the shoulder. "No way. Your best bet's to _prove your innocence_. You're better than this resignation crap, Lio! I don't know what it means to quit, and neither should you!" And, okay, he had a point. Something about Galo's pure, confident stupidity was compelling, but...

"Thank you for the support," Lio says, with a warmth in his heart. "Can you make me a promise? A selfish one?"

Galo nods, "Yeah, anything," and Lio knows that Galo means it. Probably always has.

"When I'm indicted, will you help everybody close up the bar? So it's not just Meis and Gueira and a couple of volunteers working alone."

Galo isn't used to contradicting himself, that much is clear— 

But when he sternly shakes his head "no", he won't, _you'll see, Lio Fotia, things will work out_ , it becomes evident that he means that too. Every bit of it.

Somehow.

***

Lio's resolve lasts five days. 

Monday: cut your losses. Tuesday: prepare for the worst. Wednesday: maybe he's right. Thursday: fuck, don't even _consider_ it.

Friday, after closing, after the dishes are done and the register's been balanced:

He pulls Galo into him, breath shaky, and kisses him senseless against the pool table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brain machine broke this month. I hope you are all staying safe and well!
> 
> I reread earlier chapters with fresh eyes and realized that sometimes I forget how to use words. I'm a visual thinker (THE APPLE IS IN FULL HD! but I don't have an inner monologue, or think in sentences) so it's really a struggle to translate what I'm imagining into a written format. So, apologies for that, I fixed a lot of stuff that lacked clarity :')


	8. Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello welcome to my hell chapter, it's longer than usual. spoilers, but necessary to state: there's a chunk of porn near the end that uses differently-gendered words interchangeably to describe transmasc genitalia. nothing derogatory, but still, heads up.

Dr. Heris Ardebit is a quiet celery-stalk of a scientist with large round glasses and a no-nonsense haircut. When she gives her presentation, she's confident and knowledgeable, and the conference room more or less regards her with respect. But Galo sees the way she slumps in her seat when she's finished, and figures he's not the only person in the room who's gotta hype himself up in front of a mirror every morning.

The lights flip back on, but the Powerpoint stays projected on a drop-down screen. It's got a CGI rendering of a white-walled building and Photoshopped stock images of people sitting in benches. There's a grove of trees in a courtyard, some tall wetland grass around a pond, and a series of flat panels to collect energy from the sun.

It'd be pretty, if Galo didn't know what was being sacrificed in its place.

He rolls a pen between his fingers and tries to keep his temper down. Across from him, Heris flips through a binder full of graphs and acronyms he doesn't understand. She looks so much like her sister Aina, but the crows' feet and tired line of her shoulders set them apart by a decade.

He tries not to stare at her.

"Another exciting update from our visiting geologist, Dr. Ardebit," Kray Foresight says, and everyone claps. "Our campaign has always striven to uphold its dedication to environmental protection. It's truly an honor to work with Ms. Ardebit on planting the seeds for a better tomorrow."

Everyone claps again, and Heris slouches a little more in her seat.

"Pedologist," she corrects under her breath. Nobody but Galo seems to hear her.

"What's that?" he whispers, while the meeting transitions to a different subject.

"Nothing," she says calmly, offering Galo a smile. She makes eye contact with a binder clip.

"No, literally, what _is_ that?" Galo asks. "It's your job, it sounds important to know the difference."

She blinks. For a moment, she starts to say something, before she stops and politely smiles again. "... Soil science."

"Cool," he nods. Galo's coworker shushes him. He exchanges a look with Heris and reluctantly shuts his mouth.

When the meeting is over, he swipes the last donut from the snack table and follows her out into the hallway. 

"So like, do you enjoy it?" he asks, licking a stripe of maple glaze off the top.

She walks faster than Aina does, so he skips to keep up. "More or less, yes," she answers. "Research can be rewarding. Practical application is, well." She slows down a bit for Galo's sake. "Depends on the client."

"Ahhn wha' abouh us?" he asks, disappearing the entire donut into his face. He remembers to chew with his mouth closed this time, and forcibly swallows in pain. " _Achh,_ sorry. We a good client? The Foresight Foundation, I mean?"

"Where'd your just donut go?" she teases lightly, stopping in her tracks. She seems reluctant to answer.

"Down the hatch! Skipped breakfast."

"Very impressive," she laughs, and Galo decides he likes her. "Try to take care of yourself, though. Mornings can be hard enough as it is without a little calorie boost."

"I know," he says, wiping his hands on his slacks. "I've just been kinda all over the place lately. It's no big."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she hums. "It's been nice seeing you again, Galo. Really. Feel free to stop by the next time Aina and I do dinner—"

"Wait," Galo interrupts, dropping his voice down low. "Before you take off. I really wanna make sure you're being treated okay. You didn't look super comfortable back there."

The last of Galo's coworkers flow around them and trickle back to their offices. They're left alone in a long, bright hallway with big windows and clean granite floor tiles. Heris looks up at him through thick glasses. Her face is unreadable, but then again, so is Aina's, sometimes.

"It's been fine," she lies to him— he knows because Aina always blinks when she lies, too. "Comparatively, easier than most development sites I've worked on. The idea to utilize the groundwater for a recyclable irrigation system is nice. Nothing _novel,_ but it's ecologically considerate," she explains.

Galo feels his mouth press into a hard line. "I wasn't asking about the project. I was asking about you."

"I can't think of anything noteworthy to tell you," she says, blinking again.

"Okay," Galo huffs, deciding to drop it. "Just. You know. If you ever need to talk about anything, I'm all ears, yeah?"

She smiles, and Galo's pretty sure it's genuine. She starts to walk again. 

"Thank you, but there's really no need to worry about me. I've only been on-site once to collect dirt samples, and the nature of my job keeps me cooped up in the lab otherwise. I can't complain," she says, holding her binder close.

Though he could chalk it up to the donut he just massacred, the twinge in Galo's stomach feels less like _food_ and more like _instinct_.

"You've been on-site?" he asks, with zero tact. "So you've seen the place that's getting torn down, then?"

Heris straightens up, walking a little faster. "I haven't paid much attention to the surrounding businesses, no."

"But you've been there," Galo asserts, trotting after her.

"Once," she says. She reaches the elevator lobby and presses the down button.

"When?"

"Galo," she says as calmly as possible, readjusting the binder again in her twiggy arms. "It's really not important. I couldn't remember the date if I tried. I work on a lot of projects."

And with that, the elevator dings, and she steps inside. She turns around to face him, and Galo can see his own reflection in the mirror behind her.

"Really, though. Thank you for your concern. You're a good friend to have, and I think the new campus will be a nice change of pace for you."

She doesn't blink at all. She stares at him with a warmth in her eyes until the doors fully close.

***

"Not that I've noticed, no?" Aina answers, when Galo asks if her sister's seemed... off, lately.

Their arms are stacked with flyers, and Lucia's gleefully attached them to every phone pole outside Station 3 with a staple gun. An angry-looking group of musicians pose on the paper in halftone ink. Meis is on the right, squatting behind his bass guitar.

"I mean, she's always been pretty distant," Aina continues, passing Lucia another flyer. "I only see her once a month-ish. She works a lot."

"But like, the last time you saw her. Was she acting weird?"

"Not especially, why?"

Galo sighs, popping his neck to the side. Maybe he's been reading into things too deeply. It'd been a few days since he's gotten a decent night's sleep, and the lack of rest was getting to his head.

Maybe if Lio Fotia hadn't _made out with him_ , he'd be able to focus. 

A dreamy sigh escapes his mouth, and Lucia makes a gagging noise.

"Ughh, you're being mondo gay again," she groans. "Can't you like, stay focused for two secs?"

"Let him be gay," Aina shrugs, shuffling her stack. "It's nice to get a moment's quiet around here, for a change."

Galo snaps to attention. "Wow, ouch??"

"I'm kidding, dingus, you know I love you," she says, gently butting his shoulder with the side of her head. "Though I do wish you'd picked someone a bit less dangerous to have a crush on."

Though he could fight her on the word _dangerous_ , he decides to let it slide this time. He hasn't told her much of anything about his time spent at the bar, so it's only natural that she'd jump to conclusions. And, yeah, okay, maybe Lio _is_ a little dangerous— he's short, so he knocks over the top-shelf tequila a lot. He likes to play that stupid knife game with Meis, and Galo always holds his breath, anticipating the need to put someone's severed finger over ice. He's witty and sly and sharp, _dangerously_ observant, _dangerously_ empathetic—

"I don't have a crush on him, I—" Galo stops, staring at Aina with a wide-eyed, sudden realization. "Oh my god. I have a crush on him. Oh my god."

"You've already kissed!" Lucia accuses.

"You've been into him for weeks now," Aina says, confused.

"Oh my _god,_ " Galo swerves sideways, dropping his stack. Flyers cascade across the sidewalk as he plunks his head against the nearest wall. "I have a crush on my _boss!_ "

Aina lets out a throaty sigh. "He's not your boss, Galo. It's fine."

"Yeah, if you _really_ worked there, he'd be paying you to put up these poster thingos, but _nooo,_ you went and fell for indicktured servitude—"

"Went and fell for _what?_ " Aina snorts.

"You heard what I said," Lucia squints.

"I'm! Not! Indentured!" Galo grunts, pulling himself away from the wall. "I'm doing this 'cuz I wanna, Lio or no Lio! Maybe if you guys would try hanging out at the bar for once, you'd realize it's a pretty cool place!"

Lucia rolls her eyes, but Aina sets her stack down and starts to collect what Galo's dropped. "I know, I know... What's this about a show on Saturday, then?" Aina asks, focusing on the info at the bottom of a flyer. "Is one of these guys someone who works there with you?"

Galo drops to his knees. He oh-so-gracefully grabs a fistful of flyers off the ground. "Yeah. That's Meis on the right. He's pretty cool, I guess. We're trying to raise some— uh, emergency business funds."

"I mean, I dig the Alice Cooper look," Lucia comments, leaning down to join them. She idly punches staples into the wooden wall beside them. "They do the guillotine trick onstage too?"

Galo has no idea what she's talking about. "Is this an old people reference again, grandma?"

"It's a metal reference, ya dumb baby," she huffs. 

"Guys, please," Aina sighs, pushing herself upright. "I've gotta clock back in soon. Can we finish up and take it inside?"

"What about the rest of the flyers?" Galo asks, before licking his finger and sticking it in Lucia's ear. She doesn't react whatsoever. Galo finally has proof she's a serial killer.

"Later," Aina says, patting his arm. "You've still got plenty of time to distribute them, yeah? I'm sure you can decorate the city by Friday."

And to Galo's credit, he does, and he can. He clocks off at five, takes the rest of the pile with him, and completely forgets to ask Aina about her sister again.

***

Saturday morning arrives as Saturday mornings do: much too slowly, and much too hung-over.

At 11am, Lio helps the band load in their equipment. Meis backs their rusty van right up against the curb, where they all start stacking drum cases and amplifiers. Cici and Darryl, the grungy lesbian couple who'd started the band, tease Lio about wearing sunglasses indoors. He tells them he's still drunk, and he won't be taking criticism from people wearing corduroy.

They hug, because they're longtime friends, and Lio loves them dearly.

Galo shows up around noon. He's immediately employed to carry speakers onto the stage riser, which is short and modest, as far as stages go. Lio watches him putter across the room; he grins when he lifts things, like he wants everyone to know he's having _fun_ being their pack mule.

Hell. What did Lio know. Maybe he is.

He picks an olive off the top of his Bloody Mary and watches Meis smile at one of Galo's jokes. 

He'd reluctantly told his partners about what happened. In theory, they've never had a problem with Lio dating other people. Thing is, Lio's never hooked up with anyone else— never had a reason to. Never had the _time_ to. He's never even kissed anyone after Meis and Gueira came along, because why should he? He's already got more love and support than he could ever hope to deserve.

He twirls the wooden olive spear around his index finger. Galo's up onstage now, helping the band sound-check the drumset.

"Alright. Lemme hear snare," Meis says into the PA system microphone, fiddling with sliders on the soundboard.

Galo gives a couple of thwacks at the drum by his crotch until Meis tells him to stop.

"Cool. Now gimme some kick."

Lio watches Galo's face go blank.

"Uh... which one is the kick again?" he shouts across the room.

"The one that you kick."

"Right!"

Lio closes his eyes and melts into a puddle of endearment.

Gueira pats him on the back in consolation. "You know, he's not as bad as I thought he'd be," he muses, leaning back against the register.

"At hitting a drum?" Lio asks. Gueira snorts under his breath.

"Nah, just in general." 

The two of them watch Galo lean down to readjust a tiny microphone on the floor. He clearly doesn't know what he's doing, but Meis is practicing patience. " _Ugh,_ he's actually kind of sweet, isn't he," Gueira decides.

"You know he stopped by the other day just to drop off lunch for me?" Lio says against the rim of his drink. "Who _does_ that."

"Well, that's what you get for kissin' a guy. Do it good enough, and sometimes they end up liking you."

Lio perks an eyebrow above the frame of his oversized sunglasses. He doesn't comment.

"You don't wanna date him, do you," Gueira says.

He doesn't comment again.

He can feel his partner's eyes on him. He doesn't want to _lie_ , per se, but it's... complicated. If anything, Gueira should know better— the kiss with Galo was a broken floodgate, not a gentle step towards a relationship. It was sudden and hungry, an exorcism of nerves, and like all good things in Lio's life, it was a lovely, guilty pleasure. 

Unfortunately, the longer he waits to answer, the guiltier he looks. Lio fudges a defense.

"Hell no."

_Smooth._

Gueira rolls his eyes, disbelieving. "You still wanna fuck him?" he asks, which is an easier thing to talk about.

Lio rips the corner off a napkin. "I shouldn't."

Across the room, a bit of feedback screeches out from Darryl's Marshall stack. She cuts the volume on her amp immediately. "Sorry, Boss," Meis shouts from the soundboard, knowing Lio's hangover headache wouldn't forgive that.

Lio and Gueira ignore them.

"Enough with this 'should' or 'shouldn't' shit," Gueira bites, straightening himself upright. He grabs a sanitizer rag from beneath the bar and sternly wipes down the counter. "If you're really all that concerned about how much freedom you got left, why don't you spend it doing things you _wanna_ do?"

He picks up Lio's empty glass and wipes underneath it. The rag leaves behind a trail of speckled moisture, and Lio resents the fact that he can't put his elbows down now without getting his sleeves wet.

His head is pounding. He closes his eyes to think, or not think. On better days, he loves being proved wrong— and fuck, Gueira's right about this— but today, Lio's less than thrilled to admit defeat. Today, Lio is afraid.

In fact, he's scared shitless to get what he wants.

"Would you guys be okay with that?" he asks, voice small.

Gueira throws the rag back into its bucket.

"Look. At least for me, I wanna see you happy. You've got all this spark in you, but I'm seein' it die a little more every day. All you do is work yourself to the damn bone," he says, his eyes going hard with concern. "So. Go ham. Do anything and everything and everyone you wanna do. Just like. You know, be safe. And give Meis a heads up too," he adds, bumping his chin upwards at his boyfriend. "He wants in on the 4-1-1."

 _He's always been a little jealous,_ is what Gueira doesn't say, but Lio remembers Arizona. Sure, their relationship's always been open, but...

Feelings don't always work the way you want them to. They've learned to communicate better, since then.

So Lio does what Lio's told, which is new, uncharted territory. He's tired and angry, and raising the white flag _now_ , of all times, would mean having to face his fears. It'd mean acknowledging that Galo won't hurt him; that Meis and Gueira won't hate him. It'd necessitate loving himself first, for a day, for a single fucking _moment_ , and knowing that everything he's worked for won't come crashing down around him as a consequence.

He starts a lengthy text to Meis, cross-checks it with Gueira, and receives a big, big hug that smells like sinkwater.

When soundcheck is over, and Meis picks up his phone, Lio leads him back into the kitchen with Gueira. "I want to date him, too," he finally admits, into the crook of their necks. "I'm sorry. I love you."

***

Turns out, Cici does a killer cover of "Gold Dust Woman", and Meis makes one hell of a backup singer.

"Sounds closer to the Hole version, though," Lio has to explain to Galo, who's been recruited as a temporary bar-back. Their line stretches all the way to the bathrooms, like it used to do on busy nights a few years ago. Gueira's momentarily taken charge, so Lio can show Galo how to make Well drinks for efficiency's sake.

"Who's Hole?" Galo asks, hastily tipping over a bottle of rum and counting to four.

"Yours, if you're lucky," Guiera loudly snorts over the music.

"Grow up," Lio says, laughing anyway.

Galo doesn't hear, or doesn't care. He slides the finished drink off to Lucia, who's waiting at the bar rail in a group of three. "Aina, c'mon, whatcha drinkin'?" he asks next, clapping his hands together. "I'm in the _zone!_ "

"Margarita, I guess?" she shrugs, squinting at the chalkboard behind them. "Is it Happy Hour yet?"

Thyma gently pats her on the back of her hand. "I told you, I'm paying. Get what you want!"

"Don't worry about it," Lio says, quickly flipping up a clean cup. "On the house."

When the three of them walked in together, Galo's eyes lit up in genuine surprise. Lio wonders whether he'd expected them to show up at all. While Thyma's a gem, he doesn't know Galo's coworkers yet. He especially doesn't trust the way they rag on him, but maybe playful insults follow Galo no matter who he's with.

It's kind of sad, actually. He'll have to ask his boys to cut it out.

"Woah, for real?" Lucia asks, already halfway finished with her drink. "Thought this was a fundraiser!"

Galo shrugs and digs for the Triple Sec. "Don't look at me, Boss here makes the rules!" He winks over his shoulder, and Lio's cheeks start to burn.

"On the house," Lio repeats, keeping his eyes on Galo's handiwork. "Cap it and shake it."

***

An hour later, after the band takes an intermission and returns with a slower set of songs, Gueira taps the both of them out for a break. The crowd has its second or third drink in-hand, and the line's become temporarily manageable. "Grab a water," he insists, so Lio fills two cups and snatches an empty cocktail table. Galo sits closer than usual.

They spend a few minutes in their own heads, letting their vocal cords rest after the rush of taking orders. Up onstage, mouth to a microphone, a very sweaty Meis makes eye contact with them. Lio signals back by making a heart with his hands. 

Just in front of the stage itself, clumped between the taller bodies of bar regulars, stand Thyma, Aina, and Lucia. They laugh at something amongst themselves, snapping photos on their cell phones with the flash still on. Lio knows a drunk, happy crowd when he sees one— and sure enough, a moment later, Galo scrolls his Instagram feed and snorts at the screen. Apparently, whatever Aina posted wasn't for Lio to see.

That's okay. Lio's happy anyway, soaking up a moment's worth of peace and quiet punk rock.

"I've finally got you figured out, Fotia," Galo eventually says. When a bright red light from the overhead rack pulses on his face, Lio sees him smiling.

"Do you," he hums in response, turning over an ice cube in his mouth.

"Yup. 'Specially after you covered sixty bucks' worth of drinks back there." Galo takes a long swig of water, then catches his breath. "Thanks, by the way."

"I've got no issue with covering friends of friends," Lio explains. He watches his own hand turn orange, then purple under the lights. It shyly brushes against Galo's wrist. "Charity is nothing new."

"No," Galo says, pressing the side of his hand against Lio's. "But, I get it now. You care a lot about other people, but you don't care about yourself," he says, eyes focused on the stage. "You're the second-worst martyr I've ever met."

Lio grins woefully in agreement. He playfully bumps his shoulder against Galo's as punishment. "Second-worst, hm. Who do I speak to about a promotion? I consider myself a professional."

"No way," Galo chuckles dryly. "Don't dethrone me, Big Boss. You know how much I like coming in first place."

Something in Lio's chest _aches_ for the man, but he soothes it by swallowing more ice. "It's not your job to make other people happy," he says, around the cold in his mouth.

"Right. So tell it to yourself, Lio Fotia."

A sarcastic snort escapes him, but he shakes his head in disbelief. Galo's eyes are fixed on him, and Lio realizes how seriously he's supposed to be taking this.

... So he laces their fingers together. 

Galo squeezes his hand in return.

The smile on Lio's face is raw and doubting.

"And what about _this_ ," he asks Galo, gripping tighter. His voice is barely audible over acoustic fingerpicking and duet-lines. "Are you just doing this for my sake, or do you really want this too?"

Galo pauses. 

"I want it," he agrees, confused. "Do you? Thought you didn't wanna risk another relationship right now."

Lio tuts under his breath. "Come on, Thymos. What was it you said the other day? Half the time I'm a big hypocrite."

Galo looks at him, and his face scans through a few emotions that Lio can't identify. He opens his mouth to speak. Uncharacteristically, nothing comes out. 

Then, he changes his mind. 

Galo pulls Lio into him by the nape of his neck and kisses him, hot and deep, right there in the back corner of the bar. 

It sends a spike of electricity through Lio's core, being grabbed like that, but Galo's touch is just as delicate as it is demanding. He nips at Lio's bottom lip, playfully bites the tip of his tongue, and laughs deep in his throat when Lio makes a desperate noise. The cocktail table gets bumped when Lio thoughtlessly climbs into his lap, and the rattling of ice against glass reminds them that they're still very much in public. Someone whistles.

"Fuck _off_ ," Lio deadpans at the heckler, but he steadies himself upright nonetheless. With very little patience, he tugs on the collar of Galo's t-shirt. "Come on. Follow me."

Galo clears his throat. "Where—"

"Just. Come on," Lio repeats, and thankfully, Galo follows.

The single-stall restroom that he leads him into is dim and coated in layers of clever graffiti. Lio locks the door behind them, and sighs as he presses the flat of his back against the wall. He can still feel the thumping of drums and bass through the old wood.

Galo runs a hand through his hair. "Shouldn't we leave this open for the customers?"

Lio considers this. "We've got two."

Then, Galo points to a sign on the wall: a paper printout Lio taped up a few months prior that reads _No fucking in the restrooms- Management._ He raises an eyebrow.

"Has that sign always been here?" Lio pouts. "I don't know where that came from."

"You little _shit,_ " Galo grins, gathering Lio back up into his arms. This time, he kisses him slowly— pushes his tongue into him, tucks his body up close against him. Lio kisses back just as soft and hungry, and he feels his hand twine up into Galo's hair, where he gives the gentlest of tugs. 

Galo breathes out, sharp and surprised. He hums as his mouth trails sideways, toward Lio's cheek, his jaw, his neck—

"Wait," Lio stops, turning his head. "What are we doing."

Blush rises on Galo's face, all the way up to his eyes. "You tell me? You dragged me in here," he says, voice tinged with sudden concern.

"I mean, what's the plan," Lio huffs, taking sudden visual interest in the trash can. "I think I want to blow you, but that's up to you."

"You _think?_ " Galo asks.

"Okay, whatever, I _definitely_ want to blow you," Lio confesses. "Is that something you'd be _interested_ in, Thymos?"

Outside the bathroom, the music starts to gain energy again. Lio figures the show's about to be over soon.

Luckily, Galo doesn't keep him hanging for long— he runs a thumb along the shell of his ear, soft and careful. Like he cares about him. Which, Lio guesses, he does.

"I'd be down," he says, the brightness returning to his voice. "Floor's kinda dirty, though—"

"Good thing you get to stand up, then," Lio quips, sinking to his knees. He drags his hands down Galo's solid stomach, letting them come to rest beside the button of his jeans. "Anything you need me to know?"

Galo only shrugs. His face is a deep shade of red, but his eyes are as confident as his stupid, smarmy grin. He lets Lio unzip his pants, push them down to his knees, and carefully consider his underwear. When those get discarded too, all he's left with is a thin string of wetness sticking to his naked thigh.

"Galo," Lio says, coming to a pause. He can feel the blush rising on his face, beneath his long, blonde bangs. "Don't answer this if you don't want to, but. Um... have you had..."

Galo chuckles, bright and breathless. "Work done? Nah, not on bottom." He spreads apart the skin around his swollen cock with two confident fingers. "That's all T and me, baby."

Lio wets his lips, trying not to stare. He knows how it feels to be a novelty when naked, but Galo seems to _like_ the attention. "So, remember when I said your ego's bigger than your dick?"

"How wrong you were, Lio Fotia," Galo laughs, haughty and blushing and happy, but the smallest of moans escapes him when Lio takes him in his mouth.

He sucks him in gently at first, kissing soft and wet around him. Lio rests his hands on Galo's hips, steadying him, before he starts to lick a slow, deep circle around the base of his clit. Galo chokes a noise back, and Lio looks up at him through his long, long eyelashes.

He pushes his mouth forward again, taking in the taste of him, exhaling against his skin. Galo shudders. Lio drags his lips back with a slow, wet pop. "This okay?" he asks.

Galo nods ferociously. 

"You can make noise, you know," Lio teases, licking the tip of him again. "No one can hear us over the music."

"You sure?" Galo asks, breath hitching with every contact. "I don't _wah— nna_ embarrass you."

And with that, Lio pulls back immediately, looks Galo in the eye, and grips him tighter. "Nothing you could do right now would embarrass me. Please, I want to know if you're enjoying yourself."

"I am," Galo asserts, giving him a hard look.

"Show me," Lio says, before licking hot and deep up the entire length of his entrance, all the way back up to his cock again.

" _Fuck,_ " Galo gasps.

Lio hums, absolutely thrilled. "That's better."

Galo wriggles forward, so that his back arches off the wall and his shoes settle on either side of Lio's knees. Lio brings his hands down and wraps around his ankles, keeping Galo anchored in this position, while drawing syrupy noises out of his throat with long, penetrative licks. He buries his face a little deeper, unafraid to push his browbones right up against Galo's surprisingly soft pubic hair. A warmth, like newly-lit kindling, begins to grow in his chest when he feels Galo gently sift his bangs aside. _Considerate,_ Lio thinks, dipping into Galo' entrance with his tongue.

"Fingers?" Galo quickly asks, or demands.

"In or out," Lio questions, leaning back on his heels. A thick rope of saliva breaks off from his lips. He wipes his chin on his shoulder.

"In," he grunts, before adding a "please" to the end of it. Lio smiles against him.

"So polite," he teases, gently running his fingertips along the sides of Galo's entrance. He's slick and warm with pre-cum, which postively _coats_ Lio's knuckles as he presses up between his folds. Galo brings a hand around the back of Lio's head, and he yanks on his hair right as two of Lio's fingers disappear inside him.

" _Fuuuck,_ " Galo moans again, spreading his legs just a little wider. "Shit, that feels good."

Pride erupts in Lio's chest, and he hasn't even _done_ anything yet. "Yeah?" he asks, leaning back in to suck Galo's cock. He feels the walls around his fingers tighten, so he slowly slides his hand back out and in again, pressing gently still, refusing to speed things up. "Pull my hair again," he hears himself say, so Galo does.

That earns him a third finger, and Galo _keens_ as Lio curls them all upward, pushes them deeper, slides in and out of him with a rhythm.

The band starts up an appropriate cover of "Rebel Yell", and Lio realizes Meis switched the set list around on purpose. He must've seen them leave their spot at the table. Lio furrows a brow, suspiciously delighted. He's being teased. Supported.

_I'd sell my soul for you, babe_   
_For money to burn with you._

Lio's down on his knees for three songs, sweaty and drooling and focused on Galo's pleasure. The hand in his hair tangles tighter, and he keeps catching himself weakly grinding against thin air.

When he carefully bites the skin of Galo's thigh, Galo grunts out a startled laugh. It's airy and golden, and hearing it makes Lio feel special again, so he rewards him with another open-mouthed kiss against his clit. Galo comes heavy and loud around his hand.

"Where can I touch," Galo asks breathlessly, after a few humid minutes. "What can I do for you."

Lio considers this for a second, but ultimately shakes his head. He withdraws, sliding Galo's slick cum between his fingers in amusement. "I don't think I can actually get off right now. Just wanted to focus on you, " he admits, surprised at how bashful his own voice sounds. His lips feel hot and swollen, and he can feel the smudge of wetness against the front of his underwear, but he's still soft. "Aggravating medical side effect, sometimes. Sorry."

But Galo understands, perhaps better than anyone could hope to understand him. He gives an easy shrug and helps Lio to his feet. "I getcha. Don't apologize."

"Sorry," Lio says again, on reflex.

Galo reaches over for some toilet paper and wipes away the mess between his legs. "Really, it's cool! I just wanted to give back," he tells Lio, with an honesty in the way he smiles. "That was fucking _awesome_ , you don't owe me anything."

Was that true? After all that Galo's given him, was there really nothing he wanted in return? There's the matter of his money, his conscience, and his honor regarding the bike incident, sure— but that felt so small, now. So insignificant, compared to the way Galo makes him feel worthy again. 

Happy, even.

Lio leans forward and thanks him, breath soft against the corners of Galo's mouth. He's never been the best at kissing, but with the way Galo melts against him, he feels like he's finally getting better at it.

Outside, the music's stopped. There's already someone knocking on the door, and maybe a line forming behind them. Lio sighs, and starts to clean up.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." He runs the sink tap as warm as it'll go, and soaps up his hands to get rid of the evidence. "I feel bad for ditching Gueira, to be honest. I hope the line stayed dead," he says. "This felt important, though."

"Yeah?" Galo smirks, free-throwing his wad of toilet paper into the bowl. He zips up his jeans and wiggles his eyebrows. "Come here often? We should do it again, sometime."

The knocking gets more persistent. 

Lio ratchets out a paper towel and dries himself off. "Be out in a sec, sorry!" he shouts.

On the other side of the door, he hears Meis call out to him. "Lio," he says, and it sounds wrong when he says it. Lio realizes Meis shouldn't be done tearing down yet. "Are you decent?"

"Yeah?" he answers, stepping closer to the door. "Hang on, give us a moment."

"No, _right now,_ " another voice joins in, and it's Gueira this time, shaky and dull.

Galo's eyebrows knit together in firm concern. He looks to Lio, but Lio's busy staring at the crack beneath the door. He can see the movement of more than two pairs of shoes.

His stomach drops and his arms go numb when he hears distinct radio chatter. A beep. A knock. A few demanding voices.

"Lio—" Galo starts, blocking the doorknob, but Lio shakes his head. This was what he got for wanting. This is what he deserves for thinking he could touch happiness without consequence.

Despite that, he's not bitter. He's had a good night. He smiles at Galo— grateful, comfortable— and gently squeezes his hand.

"I'll see you later?" he asks, though it's not a question with an answer. Galo tries to hold him there, just a little bit longer.

"See you," Galo agrees, furious and helpless against the reality waiting on the other side of the door.

On Saturday night at the Slowburn— 11:10 pm, fifteen minutes after falling head over heels for the jackass who ruined his motorcycle— Lio Fotia gets taken into state custody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The single joke that planted the idea for this entire fic was galo trying to figure out how to soundcheck a drumset. Here it is. I was eating french fries in my favorite dive bar when I thought about it, and somehow that turned into... all of... this...
> 
> Lucia's older in this one. I put her around ~29 ish to galo and aina's 26. Also, it never comes up, but gueira and meis are well into their 30s. Welcome to my house, let me project my stunted millenial lifestyle onto a bunch of anime characters.
> 
> I tried to avoid describing an arrest by being as vague as possible. I didn't want to write about it in detail and I'm sure no one wants to read that sort of thing either.
> 
> Thanks for sticking around this long, I don't know what I'm doing, but it's a wonderful distraction. <3


	9. Zero Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for depressing content, I plotted this whole thing out a few months ago, and wrote the majority of this chapter right before the protests started. it's got some bail talk and thematically similar hopelessness so if that's something you'd like to avoid for a bit, by all means please take care of yourself. i tried to pepper in some humor where i could! but this is the "dark valley"/lowest low of the story arc so fair warning.

_Don't blame yourself._

It's something worth repeating, Meis tells him. As much as necessary, until it sticks. _It's not your fault, it's not your fight, and you'd be one hell of an egomaniac to think otherwise._

Two weeks have passed. They scrape the laminate off of the bartop with a flat metal tool. Long curls of yellowed resin bunch up around Galo's fingertips like easter grass. Every few minutes, he puffs out a big breath of air. The resin crumbles apart and falls to the floor, but sometimes he breathes it in on accident.

 _It's not his fault—_ but Lio's absence is impossible to ignore, and the paperwork on his desk demands they vacate the property by the end of the month. Gueira handles the bank calls, while Meis contacts attorneys— _Fuck no, we're not using a public defender, that's what got me convicted in the first place_ — and as much as Galo wants to help, he's starting to realize he can't. There's nothing he can contribute that will make any of this go away.

It's not the first time he's felt powerless, but it never gets any easier.

Despite the impending demolition, they want to salvage what they can. Gueira says _some of this shit can be sold,_ and Meis goes along with it, even if he doesn't agree. The furniture gets cleaned, and the carpet gets torn up to assess the decades-old hardwood hiding underneath it. The liquor cabinet empties faster than usual, as Gueira pours complimentary Doubles and Triples for their patrons. _Consider it a public service_ , he tells Galo. _I need it, you need it, everyone needs it. Drink up._

Galo sticks to beer, after a week of whiskey and insomnia— after late night phone calls, quotes from lawyers, and one heavily-typoed resignation letter. He sends it (drunk) at three am, and the email he gets in return is short and succinct:

_Let's talk about this in person._

So Galo tries to remember what Meis told him as he steps into Kray's office. He tells himself _it's not his fault,_ and there's nothing more he could've done to prevent Lio's arrest. There's too much red tape he doesn't understand, too many words like _arraignment_ and _surety bond_ (which he does understand, but can't process right now). He drowns in bills and court documents and missed shifts at the firehouse, and he focuses on exactly none of it as he takes a seat.

He's going to quit. He needs to quit.

Kray looks at him, and Galo's face goes numb.

"Your message was... alarming. I'm worried about you," he says, with large, careful hands folded together. He rests them on his marble desktop, between his fountain pen and his morning coffee. "Have you been taking care of yourself?"

It's still early, barely eight. The sun fills the room with safe pinks and hopeful yellows. Galo feels his dry mouth move.

"More or less," he answers, trying his best to hold eye contact. He's very good at doing that when he's angry. He straightens up in his seat and squares his shoulders, hoping that his body gets the memo. _It's time to be angry_. It's okay to be righteous and powerful right now. "It's been a hard couple of weeks."

"It hurts me to hear that," Kray tells him, behind his cup of coffee. He's quieter than usual, like he used to be, when Galo was young and struggling.

Fuck. Who is Galo kidding? His heart can't squeeze a single drop of anger into his bloodstream right now.

"... Does it? Hurt you?"

"Of course," Kray says, leaning forward. "Your well-being is always a priority."

He's got a nice navy suit on today, accented with silver cufflinks. Maybe Galo should've dressed up for the occasion. He feels grossly out of place in his gym shorts and tennis shoes, like a messy son. Not an employee.

_Like a child again. Like he's threatening to run away again._

When he hesitates to reply, Kray tries a different angle.

"Galo, I've seen what you can do. I'm excited to watch you learn and grow and _take charge_ — I always have been. It pleases me to no end knowing how committed you are to doing the right thing." He offers a sympathetic look, and the room shrinks. "But none of that has any value if you don't take care of yourself, first."

Galo listens, but his mind flashes rapidly through images of the past two weeks— watching Lio duck into the dark backseat of a cop car, handcuffed and still blushing— seeing Gueira, slumped in front of the computer with his head in his hands (and a search history on defense attorneys, crisis counseling, and the NAMI emergency hotline phone number). Helping Meis find the duct tape, so he could post a paper on the bar door that said _Thank you for thirty years of business, from all of us with love._

Why should Galo take care of himself— be _selfish,_ when no one else had that privilege?

"I'll manage," he smirks, flat and empty, legs bouncing. "I always do, don't I?"

Across the desk, Kray doesn't smile back. "You do."

And that was it, wasn't it? They know each other well. They share a history— sometimes worth remembering, sometimes worth crying over. Galo owes this man his life, but leaving doesn't mean he's _ungrateful_. It doesn't mean he hates him, or that he'll be hated in return.

Right?

He holds his breath. Finds his anger, or something like it.

"I'm quitting," Galo asserts. "I'm serious. I'm done here—"

"Enough."

Kray holds up his hand, and Galo's eyelids flutter in surprise. "'Scuse me?"

"You're hurting yourself, and I won't have it." Kray Foresight says, rising from his seat. He's tall, but his frame is warm and heroic against the morning sun behind him. "Do you think I haven't noticed? You've lost weight, you haven't been sleeping. I don't know what's gotten into you these past few months, but you're not doing well."

"I picked up another job. I've been busy."

A hand steadies the back of Galo's seat, and his mentor leans down beside him. His throat closes up. His first instinct is to hug him, but then he remembers he's twenty-six and angry. _Supposed_ to be angry.

" _Another_ job? That's unnecessary," Kray says, sharp and concerned. "Isn't it? You should have more than enough to cover your expenses—if you don't, let me know. Are you unhappy at the firehouse?"

"I've got money," Galo grunts. "I like it just fine."

"Then you're unhappy here."

Galo shrugs.

"You met Lio Fotia, and you believed him." He smiles, like he pities him. "Is that it? You've been assisting him with the property case?"

Galo doesn't want to correct his assumption— that he's been giving Lio counsel, not washing dishes and pouring drinks. He shrugs again, eyes defiantly fixed on the floor.

"I don't blame you. You're an empathetic person," Kray sighs. It's odd, watching him kneel at Galo's side. He feels a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Visions of scraped knees and band-aids strobe across his mind. "But it'd be irresponsible of me to cut you loose, knowing what I know. What can I do to convince you to stay?"

The floor is too close, and somehow miles away. His shoes are getting ratty. He never did buy non-slip sneakers for the kitchen, like Meis suggested once.

"Tell me the truth," Galo says, closing his eyes. "About the case. Your involvement in it. Please."

There's a moment of dead silence between them, so he chances another look at Kray. The man's frown ages him, pulling hidden wrinkles out of his chin. How long have they known each other, now?

"I've been nothing but honest, Galo. I care about you—"

"Stop it! Stop _sidestepping_ ," Galo breaks, throwing his hands off the armrests. "All you ever do is tell me how good I am and how happy you are with the stuff I do for you, and I'm not stupid, okay! Stop trying to make me feel _valuable,_ and just be real with me!" 

He's shrugged off Kray's touch before he realizes it. The man's hand stays frozen above his shoulder, just for a moment, before he drops it back to his side. Galo's heart is pounding— he's straightened himself upright in his seat, hard eyes fixed on Kray's—

And nothing happens. 

Kray doesn't answer him. He just _stares_. 

"Well?" Galo urges, voice dusty and cutting.

He watches Kray's eyes, his mouth. The tilt of his head. He counts four expressions, just snippets of them, really— 

When Galo was a kid, maybe ten or eleven, he could make Kray laugh. It always gave him a confidence boost, knowing that someone thought he was funny. After years of pulling pity out of doctors, teachers, and CPS workers, it was nice to make someone smile, for once. For real. 

Once, he'd made Kray mad, instead. He'd got caught smoking weed in the middle school parking lot, and it'd taken a harpful of pulled strings to save his sorry ass from expulsion. He'd never seen Kray angry before. He'd never seen him look _embarrassed,_ either— like it was Kray's reputation on the line. Like it was personal, somehow.

In this moment, Galo looks at Kray, expecting to find something like anger or embarrassment— hell, even _amusement_ — in any one of his microexpressions. Something to go by. _Anything_ to understand what he's thinking.

Nothing clicks. 

He's utterly unreadable, and for the first time in Galo's life, he feels like Kray's as dangerous as the fire he saved him from.

"Let me leave," Galo says quietly, to the man blocking him in.

A second passes. Two seconds. 

"Let me _leave_ ," Galo repeats, urgently now, and he realizes he's glaring. 

There's a slow start to his movement, but Kray Foresight eventually pivots on the balls of his feet. He breaks eye contact and he unfolds himself upright, like a big hawk taking off for flight. He allows Galo a clear path to the doorway.

The next few steps are silent and eternal.

"Your final paycheck will be direct-deposited," Kray manages to say, when the automatic doors swing open. 

_There's no need to come back,_ Galo understands. He pauses, fiddling with his company ID card on it's lanyard. He considers leaving it behind, or throwing it in the trash can, right where Kray Foresight can see it.

Instead, he keeps it.

"Thanks, Gov," he says, walking a little faster than usual on his way out.

***

It doesn't sink in until sometime after closing, when they're out behind the bar. Gueira and Meis take turns smacking expired cans of nacho cheese with a golf club. Galo sits on the curb with his head between his knees.

"You okay there, bud?" Gueira asks, passing the club off to his partner. "You've been real quiet for a while."

"Take a swing, you'll feel better," Meis offers. He reaches down for another can and lines it up near his boots.

"I'm good, thanks," Galo deadpans, speaking to the gravel between his feet. "Had a long day, y'know?"

There's a whistling swoosh and a _whack!_ as Meis drives the can out into the empty field ahead of them. It explodes upon impact and leaves a trail of cold, liquid cheese arcing through the air behind it. 

"Yeah, I feel that," Gueira chuckles darkly. "Long day. Every day."

"Every fucking day," Meis echoes, setting up another can. He hits it twice as hard, but messes up the angle. "Spinner," he mutters to Gueira, who slow-claps at the resulting spiral of goop in the distance.

"Sorry, I'll knock it off," Galo says. He straightens up, grateful to breathe in the cool night's air— it's graceful in his lungs, and it keeps him grounded with every fresh wave of anxious nausea. " _Ugh_ , I'm being dumb! I don't mean to make it seem like I've got it worse than you right now."

The golf club gets passed off again. Gueira moves on to the pasta sauce pile. He nudges a can with his foot, kicks it up, and catches it in his hand. "It's cool. Didn't get that vibe from you," he says, throwing Galo a quiet sideways glance.

They've been out here for hours now, and the overhead light keeps flickering on and off. It's hypnotic, in a way, like this is all a fuzzy dream. Galo shifts his butt a little, trying to wake it up— he's been zoning out so hard, he never felt his body fall asleep in the first place. Eventually, the rhythmic _whacks_ and hollers just became a familiar background noise.

 _He thinks too much; such men are dangerous_ , Kray would tease, whenever Galo got stuck inside his own head. He couldn't help it. Sometimes, his brain refused to rest— there'd be too many ideas, too many thoughts and urges that made him feel caustic and wild. Patient people let him open his mouth and drain the floodwaters. Good people put up with his endless stream of energy, and maybe even encouraged it. But sometime around sundown, while helping Meis and Gueira clear out the storage closets, he'd come to two conclusions:

_Kray was neither patient nor good._

and

_He'd just lost the last of his family._

"Hey," Meis says, nudging him in the shoulder with his knee. Galo looks up, remembering where he is. "You don't have to pretend you're okay right now. I promise you we won't make things awkward if you need a sec to decompress."

Galo manages to grin, despite himself. "What, you're just gonna stand there while I start cryin'?"

"If you want," Meis shrugs.

The delivery's so dry that Galo assumes he's joking— but no one cracks a smile at him. Meis just stands there, eyebrow arched expectantly.

"Oh," Galo chuckles uncomfortably. "Yeah, naw, I'll pass. I'll be fine." And though he knows, undoubtedly, that he _won't be fine,_ he looks up at them and says "Pinky promise, guys."

"Hmmmmm," Gueira squints, shaking his head. He checks the date on the can in his hand— _1995_ — and sends it out to pasture. 

" _'Hmmmmm'_ what?" Galo huffs.

"Nothin'. It's just," Gueira starts, wiping the sweat from his hands. "You knew this guy your whole damn life, and after like, twenty years of being manipulated you _finally_ tell him to go eat shit. You expect to be over that in an afternoon?"

 _Manipulated_ doesn’t feel like the right word. Galo wants to tell him there were good times too, but he hesitates. _Were_ there even good times?

"No," he admits, leaning back into his personal thigh cocoon. "I just don't think I can stop to think about any of that right now. Not when there's so much to take care of, first."

There's a mutual murmur of woeful agreement. To his right, Meis sinks down into a squat and pulls out a lighter. He untucks a stubby cigarette from behind his ear, and holds it between his lips when he speaks. "What's bail set at."

"Quarter-mil," Gueira mutters, swinging hard. _Thwack!_

"Fucking _hell_."

"Priors," Gueira shrugs, devoid of emotion. Galo feels his stomach drop.

"Wait, wait. Quarter-mil? As in, a _quarter of a million dollars?_ " he asks, voice cracking harder than it has in years. "Why is it set so high?"

"It's that goddamn homicide charge, isn't it," Meis shakes his head. He spits out a cloud of smoke. "Poor kid."

Galo lets his knees sink down, against the broken concrete. "The one from Lio's teenage years? I thought that got dropped?"

"Doesn't matter," Meis grunts. "Come time for your bail hearing, they look real hard at your history. Boss has _history_." The cherry end of his cigarette breaks off as he flicks it. "In my honest-to-god opinion, he's damn lucky bail's even being offered."

When he sighs, Galo's forced to breathe in a cloud of second-hand smoke. He clears his throat, but he doesn't care. Not right now. "I don't get it. That's— stupid. Nothing Lio's done has been that _bad_."

Meis snorts. "You sure about that? You weren't there. You hardly know him."

"I know him well enough to know he deserves another person on his side, for once! He's not a crim—"

"A criminal?" Gueira cuts him off. He stands directly in front of Galo's feet, steadying the golf club between his legs like a cane. "Christ in _hell,_ Thymos," he laughs under his breath. "Yes he _is_. We all are. It's real cute of you to think otherwise, and we thank you for your _compassion_ , but that ain't how reality works, is it?"

"I don't know! Maybe it is!" Galo bursts, throwing his hands in the air. “Maybe I don’t know anything! Big whoop, nothing new there!”

"Chill," Meis says. "Just. Chill, for a sec."

“You’re right,” Gueira shrugs at Galo. “You don’t know.”

“ _Chill,_ ” Meis repeats in warning. He passes the cigarette up to Gueira, who rolls his eyes and takes it anyway. Meis tucks a fallen strand of hair back behind his ear. Galo can see the sweat on his forehead, and the tired shadows underneath his eyes.

No one speaks. Gueira takes a long drag and swings his arm down to his side. Kicks a rock, or maybe a chunk of concrete that’d crumbled off the curb.

“You’re spot-on, though,” he admits to Galo. “Nothin’ he’s done is worth any of this shit. Nothin’. No murder, no arson. Drug charges, sure. Whatever. Join the club. But after that, you know what he’s done?”

Galo doesn’t blink.

“2013. One of the bar regulars crashed with us for a while. After a divorce, you know? We hit up a Wal-Mart for some shit, and they snatched somethin’ or other, can’t remember what. Something stupid. Security caught up to us, and Boss took the rap for them. Misdemeanor. Charged a fine. Spent two months at County.”

Galo watches a couple of moths flick around the overhead light, his throat constricting.

“Couple years after that. 2015— no, 2016? Maybe. Let’s say I _may_ have been sauced, and let’s say I _may_ have walked into public with a 40 of Olde English. Well, if I got caught, that’d violate my probation, now wouldn’t it? Fucker chased me down and made me hand it over. He got an open container violation.”

Galo feels his breath in his stomach, where it’s tight and hot and hard to take in. Gueira’s shaking his head and smiling a sharp, ironic smile, and Meis keeps rubbing the back of his calf through his jeans.

“Wasn’t just criminal charges he got dicked with, either. You know, a pal of ours needed a co-signer on a loan. Real big chunk of cash, but was puttin’ it toward a house, I think. It was through some credit union,” Gueira continues, pausing to take another drag, eyes wild. “You know Boss had real good credit back then? For someone who spent a couple of years behind bars, he was always on top of his shit. Got us our bikes and a new stove and all that. Never missed a payment.”

“Had a bit in savings, too,” Meis adds, shoulders slumped defensively. “For a while.”

“’Til that someone defaulted on their loan, and Boss took on their debt. Fucked everything up for us. Boss didn’t care, ‘cuz he doesn’t hold grudges against anyone who doesn’t deserve ‘em. God, I was mad, though,” Gueira huffs. “Livid. Absolutely livid.”

Gueira can’t say much after that, like he’s suddenly forgotten how to speak. He keeps shaking his head at nothing.

Every word that Kray told him about Lio’s past was true, then. _A laundry list of offenses. Thousands of dollars in debt_. Irrefutable facts. A perfect paper trail of charges— and yet, every word of it was disgustingly twisted. Of course Lio’d take the fall for anyone he’d deemed deserving. Of course he’d implicate himself out of sheer goodwill and righteousness. Galo feels a backdraft heat rising in his chest, because he was _right_ , and always has been.

“I told you!” he pops at the both of them. “I knew it. He’s not just innocent, he’s _awesome_. Hell, you all are!”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Meis manages to chuckle.

“Then I’m saying it for you,” Galo asserts. He feels his shoulders tense, impossibly tighter. “I refuse to let any of you suffer for this, you have my word!”

Gueira throws up jazz hands, still gripping the cigarette between his fingers. “Ohhh, look at Mr. Hero Complex over here,” he mocks, but something in his tone is lighter than it was a moment ago. “We don’t need a savior, we need a _plan_ , Thymos.”

 _You might need both_ , Galo almost says. He congratulates himself for thinking before he speaks, like Ignis keeps telling him to.

"Here's the thing,” Meis cuts in, voice flat. His eyes dart up at Guiera. “We need ten percent for a bail bond. That's 25k, or Boss is lookin’ at a nice long vacation 'til his court date."

Gueira grunts. He takes a deep drag and stares at the ground, turning away from Galo. The golf club finds its way back down to the dirt. "Aight. I'm selling my bike. I gotta."

Meis nods. "Shit. Yeah, we don't have a choice, do we." He finally stands upright again, wiping his dusty palms on the seat of his pants. "Three bikes... chunk of cash from the buyout and the band show... that'll work. Maybe."

"Wait," Galo urges, scrunching his eyes shut in thought. He knows this isn’t his conversation, but he butts in anyway. "At least hang on to one of them. Lio's Harley. I'll throw my bike in instead."

The two of them have the gall to look surprised— as if Galo Thymos is anything but the World's Number One Firefighting Martyr. As if any part of his conscience would let him be anything less than that.

Gueira squints at him. Looks him over, top to bottom, mouth clamped shut. He tosses down the cigarette butt, and crushes it under his shoe. "Okay. Here's a hypothetical for you, hot shot. Say you sell your bike. How you gonna get around without your crotch rocket?"

Galo opens his dumb, numb mouth, and the words flow out like battery acid. "Pshhh, I won't even need to. If I'm not working at Foresight anymore, then that just leaves the firehouse. Considering I can't afford my fancy apartment without my stipend, I guess I'll just sleep at the station!"

There's a blip of silence, where all they can hear is the steady chirping of grasshoppers in the fieldgrass, or the electric buzz of the overhead fluorescents. Galo realizes he's said something stupid when his chest begins to ache. 

"For real?" Gueira asks, quietly accusing.

"Thymos," Meis says, like he's concerned.

"What?"

"You're gonna lose your place?"

"What, so are you!" Galo says, much too defensively— and it's something he immediately regrets. 

That wasn't cool. He didn’t mean to say it. _Why did he say that._

Meis watches him, face cold, mouth predatory. He pops the air bubbles between his knuckles, and then he slowly, _bitterly_ , starts to laugh.

Gueira shoots him a look of disbelief. His eyes are hot and hard with shock, but his lips curl up into a contradictory smirk. "Guess we are," he says quietly, while Meis snorts so hard he spits out a loogie.

"Fuck." There's a scuffle of boots on gravel, while Meis tracks over to the far side of the parking lot. "Fuck!" he cries out into the dark expanse of field, laughing— punching the air in joyful pain.

It's not funny. Gueira shakes his head, and then he's laughing too. He jogs his way over to his partner, hoisting him sideways, pulling him into a tight embrace. They move in quickened jerks, like stickbugs, nearly toppling each other over with their weight.

"Fuck! This sucks!" Galo hears Meis shout again, kicking up a line of gravel into the air. 

"This sucks! This _fucking reeks!_ " Gueira echoes gleefully.

Through it all, Galo still sits, confused and guilty underneath the flickering lights. He watches as they pull each other in for a kiss, like it's the last thing they'll ever do, or maybe the first thing they've ever done.

His eyes feel wet. He smiles at them, but when he realizes he's doing it, he feels his heart break. 

They don't deserve this. None of them deserve this.

He takes a moment to _decompress_ , as they'd called it; his hands shake and his lungs hitch and he's laughing now too, like crying is something to laugh about. Maybe it is. Maybe that's the only thing left to do.

He wipes the salty snot from his nose and stands up.

"Hey," he shouts at them, voice heavy. "I wanna hit a can!"

Meis raises his head and grins— with the crazed look in his eyes, it's terrifying. "Hell yeah, man, go for it!"

"Use the cheese!" Gueira snorts. "It flies farther!"

"Okay!" Galo agrees, reaching for the stockpile. He centers the can between his feet, which don't really feel like his feet anymore, but he doesn't care. He's here to murder. He's here to make it soar.

With a swing and a pop, he sends the can sailing over the parking lot. It arches high above Meis and Gueira's heads, and they shriek and duck away from its cascading remnants. Cold nacho cheese drizzles over their dusty leather jackets— their hair, their boots—

" _YES!_ " Gueira shouts, arms extended outward, like cleansing himself in the rain. "Yes! Fuck! Yes! Nice one, dude!"

"Shit, I got it in my fuckin' eyes," Meis laughs, pressing the heels of his hands into his face.

"I'm doin' another one!" Galo whoops, realigning the golf club. He can't help but think about Lio's tiny body cradled in front of him, hands conjoined, hole-in-one triumphantly earned. He thinks about corn dogs and sodas and cute texts sent at midnight, and Lio's tongue piercing, and Lio's smile.

He thinks he's in love, and he's hurting. He thinks about Kray, and he's raw.

The club comes down hard against the can, and he sends it up into the air. It streaks sideways instead of forward, and he watches it crack against one of the motel windows next-door.

Meis and Gueira holler in shock, barking out _shit!_ and _yo!_ and _run, dude!_ before they're suddenly pulling Galo by the wrist toward their bikes. Their smiles are outrageous and cackling, and they jump on him, hugging him— _screaming at him—_ before they all pop up their kickstands and flee into the night.

***

"So, basically, my bad, and I'll pay for it," Galo explains, slouching all 175 lbs of muscle over the old wood counter. It creaks underneath him, and the motel's front desk worker sighs.

Maybe it'll break, Aina thinks. It wouldn't be the first time Galo's crumpled a piece of furniture; she thinks back to last June, when they all learned lawn chairs weren't built to withstand running leaps. (Ignis reluctantly banned "BBQ Night" after that too, which was a shame. She missed their pool noodle swordfights in the breakroom.)

"Why didn't you apologize for the window when you _cracked_ it?" Aina asks, seating herself in a dirty lobby armchair.

"The Spirit of Justice is polite enough to wait until morning!" Galo winks.

"Sir, we have it on camera that you fled the scene," the motel worker says flatly. 

"The Spirit of Justice was going through an emotional crisis and would, like, _totally_ love it if you didn't prosecute him!"

Aina snorts out a _HA!_ — and then she slumps backwards, apologizing. "Sorry. Ignore me."

She wasn’t exactly thrilled to be here on her day off, but _something something_ “a friend in need is a friend indeed”. Galo sounded sick when she’d picked up the phone, but then she realized he’d been sniffling for other reasons, and. Well. She couldn’t just turn him down like that.

Still! What she didn’t know was that she’d be witness to his criminal testimony; he’d promised “free continental breakfast at the motel next to the bar”, not “back me up while I beg for mercy ”. Well, Galo Thymos! There _is no_ continental breakfast, and there’s _one_ box of danishes set out next to a hot water dispenser. She thinks about making some tea if they have any packets stashed away, but his big dumb stupid voice keeps saying big dumb stupid things. They’ll be lucky if they’re not kicked out soon.

“Look,” Galo sighs, slumping down. “I know we were being rowdy last night, and I should’ve been more careful. I’m sorry. Give me a number— any number, and I’ll pay it. Honest.”

“Where have I heard this before?” Aina says, thinking back to the bike incident. “You gonna start working here too?”

“Shhhshhhhshhh,” Galo shushes her from across the lobby. “Shh. Shhh.”

The front desk worker looks him over for a second, before ambling over to an ancient computer. She smacks the side of the monitor with her palm, and it slowly blinks on. "Look, man, I can't put a price on a window. It isn't my call,” she explains. “Manager works night shift. You’ll have to come back later. You better hope she didn’t file a police report.”

Aina hears him groan like a dying animal, and she closes her eyes. “Can I at least see the video?” Galo asks, deflating. “I wanna like, face my truth. You know?”

“Is he always like this?” the worker asks Aina, who eagerly nods with her eyes screwed shut.

A few moments pass, and she gratefully sits in quiet peace as the worker pulls up the surveillance logs. The motel's just as old as the bar, if not older; the lobby's small and outdated, with water damage on the ceiling tiles. Hell, there's a tv set with a dial on the front! She'd never even thought about a place like this existing in Promepolis. Everything's always so new and cool and cute downtown, and this place is a real dump in contrast.

“Aw man, you can see _everything_ ,” Galo whines behind her, pointing at the computer screen. The camera’s fuzzy, barely legible, but it’s caught a wide angle of all three of the guys last night. He’s mortified as he watches the entire scene on triple-speed, from whacking cans to high-tailing it outta there on their bikes.

"Are you done 'facing your truth' now?" the worker deadpans, closing the program window. "You can leave a phone number if you really wanna hold yourself accountable, I guess. Other than that, have a good day?"

“Wait,” Galo says, breath thin. Aina's ditched the lobby chair, and she's back at Galo's side by the time she sees something light up behind his eyes— the same calculating look he gets when assessing tough fires, the intelligent cogs slowly turning behind the scenes. “How long do you stash the video records for?”

“Couple of months? I don’t know. I just started working here last week.”

“Can I make a request?” he urges, more than asks. “Can I see something kind of old?”

The worker stares at him with suspicion. “I’ve never been asked that before, so I’m gonna go ahead and say no.”

It takes Galo Thymos less than five seconds to fish out his wallet and slam down two twenty-dollar bills. Aina feels the heat radiating off his shoulders, and she’s a little confused. “Please. This is all I’ve got on me.”

 _Idiot, no!_ Aina wants to shout. She clenches her toes up inside of her sneakers. He’s already caused property damage, and now he's trying to _bribe_ this chick for something? It’s a dumb idea, and she’s about to be an accomplice if she stands here any longer, but something must be up. She’s seen this look on Galo before— that mix of desperation and instinct, the one that’s never been wrong yet.

Dangerous? Yes. Bonkers? Absolutely. But never wrong.

“What’s this about, Galo,” she asks under her breath. He only shakes his head in return, still staring at the worker. There's a moment of deliberation, and both twentys quickly disappear off the desk.

“Time and day,” the worker asks apprehensively.

He gives them. She turns around to click through files on the ancient desktop.

“Galo,” Aina tries again. “I don’t like what you’re doing. What are you looking for?”

“I got a feeling about somethin'," he whispers, slouching forward over the front desk again. “You saw that, right? Half the parking lot’s visible on that camera.”

Aina doesn't get it. She opens the calendar app on her phone and scrolls back to the date he'd requested to see, and it doesn't seem significant. Maybe he's finally losing it. Stress does that to people, right? The poor dummy hasn't known normalcy for a few months. Heck— now she feels bad for canceling their last yoga date, and the ice cream outing before that. Maybe Galo'd still have his head screwed on right if he got some socializing in.

On the computer screen in front of them, the video player pops back on. It's daytime, and the parking lot is empty. 

"What are we looking at?" Aina whispers back at him. "Or like. What's the big deal here."

Galo's jaw squares up. "Remember the day of the bar fire?"

Behind video grain and strobing lines, Lio Fotia exits the Slowburn Bar & Grill in stylish black leather clothing. He swings on a backpack and mounts his bike, looking impossibly small against its ridiculous frame. He takes a moment to shimmy into his helmet, and peels out of the parking lot at 9:02 am.

Nothing happens for an hour and a half. The worker lets the video fast-forward.

At 10:47, a small, white car pulls into the far end of the lot.

“Hold up,” Galo breathes, asking the worker to pause the playback. “I can’t make out a plate number. Can you zoom in?”

"Can I what?"

"You know, zoom in! It's hard to see the plates."

Aina remembers when she had a crush on Galo. Past Aina forced herself to get over it. Past Aina did Future Aina a massive favor. “Galo, this isn’t _C.S.I._ ” she deadpans.

“I said _zoom_ , not _enhance_ ,” he buffers. “You can totally zoom on a computer!”

“Sir, I’m running Windows 95,” the worker says. “You’ll get what you get.”

“Fine! Whatever!” he shrugs, waving his hands. “Keep going, then!”

So she does. She runs the video on real-time, and the car parks near the field behind the bar, where Meis and Gueira had hollered and kissed the night before. Again, nothing happens for a minute or two, until the driver door pops open, and a woman in a bucket hat steps out.

“What’s going on,” Aina squints. She checks the timestamp on the corner of the screen. “This was, like, ten minutes before we responded to the call about the fire...”

“Yeah,” Galo says, jaw tensed. “It sure is.”

The woman hastily pops open the trunk, and gathers a duffel bag into her arms. 

The woman crouches down near the edge of the field, breeze gently blowing the natural grass in waves. She unzips the bag, and removes some equipment.

The woman collects—

“Soil samples,” Galo realizes, voice low. “She’s collecting soil samples, Aina.”

“... Are you sure? It’s too fuzzy to see,” Aina counters, wrapping her arms across her chest. 

"Aina," Galo warns. "C'mon. It's right there. That's what she's doing."

"She's not—"

"That's Heris," Galo grunts. "Why is your sister there _ten minutes_ before a fire started?"

"Maybe it's a coincidence!" Aina flounders, taking a step back. "Maybe it's just weird timing." 

But then the woman, for all her previous haste, finishes up as slowly as possible. She loads her equipment back into the car's trunk, looks over her shoulder, and paces over towards the building— where she hesitates underneath a row of skinny windows. They’re long and horizontal, like the kind above the bar inside. Like the kind above the liquor cabinets, the minifridge, the wall coated in stickers and sharpie and tags. The register. The toaster oven.

She finds that she's in luck, today. One of the windows has been left open, or maybe never got shut to begin with. They're dusty and old and hard to close, Galo says. He's tried to clean them. Maybe he left one open himself.

Aina watches her sister with knots in her guts, and just as Heris fishes something out of her bag and reaches up against the wood paneling, the video cuts out.

"Woah, wait, what?" Galo jerks forward. "Make it come back!"

"Can't," the worker shrugs. She drags the cursor forward over the timestamp bar, and the video re-appears some hours later. "That's all we got, I guess."

"What do you mean, that's all you got? Where's the rest of it!" He keeps pointing at the screen and shouting, like that'll help.

Aina stops listening, because she's busy staring at the floor. She thinks about Heris, and tries to recall the rest of that afternoon. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, at first. They'd even gone out to dinner after she'd clocked off for the day. They'd talked about work, and Tindr dates, and funny movies they'd seen recently. They'd hung out at Aina's place, where Heris stayed the night, because she got concerningly drunk.

“Galo,” Aina hears herself say, but just barely. Her fingertips are numb as she grips the desk in front of her, head hung, stomach full of questions. “Do you remember when I told you my neighbor’s a lawyer? ...I think we're gonna need some help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok that's the last of the depressing chapters its GAY AND UP FROM HERE AT LEAST
> 
> donate to your local bail fund. eat well, get some sleep, wear a mask <3


	10. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, using a revolving door of gendered words for trans genitalia during sex scenes.

When bail posts, Lio's released on a Tuesday night. 

He's processed out in the same clothes he'd been wearing the night of the band show— three weeks ago. Meis, thankfully, brings him something clean to change into. Gueira brings him french fries and a crushing hug.

They pick him up in the band van. Between the high hum of the portable fan clipped onto the dashboard, and the squeak of failing breaks leaning into every stoplight, Lio's breathing is deep and audible. He falls asleep on Galo's shoulder when they pull onto the highway, and for once, they all shut up for a while.

Something pulls on Galo's guts when he's dropped off first. He reluctantly nudges Lio awake, climbs out from underneath him, and slides the van door shut with a thud. He makes his way up to his fancy sterile apartment, with a fancy broken lease that ends on Saturday, and he's grateful he's ever had something to lose at all.

***

Aina likes olives on her pizza, which is new. When Galo points this out, she tells him he'd just never paid attention before. 

Maybe she's right.

He steals one off her nearest slice, and gags when he discovers he still hates olives. Her neighbor laughs uncomfortably, and explains what a _period of discovery_ means, in terms of usable evidence. 

Galo doesn't really pay attention to that either, even though he should. He spills his mango iced tea on the lawyer's lap. He apologizes, but _"it's okay, accidents happen."_

He thinks about Lio, and texts him under the table.

***

On Friday, Lio presses for entry on a computerized intercom. It takes four rings before Galo answers the phone and keys him into the gated community.

Between fan palms and posh covered walkways, he locates the elevator, and rides it to the eleventh floor. He feels out of place with his dirty boots and cracked phone screen, but he loudly scoots the sole of his shoes when he walks, like he wants to personally spite everyone who lives here. He's smiling when he locates Galo's door, and he smiles even wider when it opens. Galo's face blinks in shock.

"You— cut your hair!" he gapes, eyes wide.

"Yup," Lio answers.

"You're wearing a dress?" Galo points out.

"Yup," Lio agrees.

"You look bad-ass!" Galo nearly shouts, scooting out of the doorframe. He takes Lio's dusty jacket off in a show of hospitality, but then he pauses, looking confused. "Sorry, I forgot I packed the hangers already," he explains, handing it back to Lio. "Thanks for... um. Coming over to help box stuff up with me."

"It's the least I can do," Lio shrugs, because it's true. He'd learned what was given up to bail him out, and the guilt laid heavy and fresh in his chest. "I owe you more than I can repay—" 

Galo interrupts him, waving him off. " _Pshhhh_. Yeah, yeah. Let's save that sad junk for later, okay? I wanna make some smoothies and veg out for a bit. You good? You been eating?"

Lio rolls his eyes, but a tiny smile breaks his face. "Yes, Galo."

"Good. They treat you decent in there? Did anyone fuck with you?"

"Not for long," Lio shrugs again, casually reaching into the front pockets of his lacy white sundress. When he opens his fist, he's holding two human molars. "Want a souvenir?"

Galo winces with his entire body. "Yooo— those aren't _yours_ , are they?"

"Of course not," he chuckles, pocketing the teeth again. "I know how to stand up for myself. It's fine."

Still, the apprehension on Galo's face melts into something hard to read. "Damn," he says, with a shaky laugh. "Guess so."

Inside, the apartment's dark and cool, with the blinds drawn low and the A/C on high. Lio decides to change the subject by kicking off his boots and moving into the kitchen. "You mentioned smoothies?"

Thankfully, it works. Galo's all brightness and electricity again as he hovers over to the fridge; it's empty on the inside, save for a single bag of groceries, a case of beer, and a takeout box.

"Yeah! I got strawberries, bananas, uhh, kale? Couple o' pineapple chunks left over—"

"Strawberry sounds great," Lio hums, perching himself up on the counter. He idly bumps his socked feet against Galo's calves, tracing the curve of muscle without thinking too much. "Haven't had a smoothie in a while. Show me how you make yours and I'll show you how I make mine?"

"That a pickup line?" Galo snorts, digging fruit out of the grocery bag.

"If you want it to be," Lio laughs, hands still shyly hiding in his pockets.

Is it weird to be flirting? Is it weird to slip so easily into that routine again, as though nothing had happened at all? Though three weeks in custody was nothing new for Lio, he couldn't keep numbing himself from reality like this. Galo had sold his bike, quit his job, and lost his home for him— found video evidence of foul play, complicated the prosecution against him—

So Lio, he vowed to himself, would see it through to the end. He'd dedicate _every_ resource he had left to protecting his business, his family, and his freedom. He'd make their sacrifices worth it. He'd bleed Kray Foresight dry for _ever_ hurting someone as good and lovely as the man standing before him—

Who's blushing bright red from Lio playing footsie. He forgets to put the lid on the blender.

***

After they clean up the carnage in the kitchen (and rinse each others' hair off with the showerhead), Lio follows Galo back into his bedroom. It's just as expensive as the rest of the apartment, with smooth ceilings and hardwood floors. Some of Galo's belongings— the ones not yet packed into cardboard boxes— severely contrast the intended demographic. Where Lio imagines architects or businessmen lounging beneath the tract lights, he sees Galo digging through a garbage bag full of sweat-stained tshirts. 

Then he gets caught staring.

"Not half bad lookin', am I?" Galo chuckles, winking as he sniffs a towel. "You don't gotta stand in the doorway, you know."

"Sorry," Lio smirks, moving inside. "Was just thinking about how this place doesn't suit you at all."

"Damn right it doesn't," Galo says, throwing a sock into another pile. "It's overpriced and soulless. Exactly _his_ taste. Good riddance."

Lio paces closer to a bookshelf. 

"I'm sorry things turned out this way."

"I'm not," Galo snorts, stuffing his arm under the bedframe to retrieve something. "So what, my old boss is a piece of shit after all? Good to know. _Happy_ to know it. Glad I'm staying with Aina 'til I find something that actually _benefits_ my life, you know?"

"Still." Lio doesn't finish his thought. He doesn't know how to answer without getting angry on Galo's behalf. Instead, he quietly turns his attention behind him.

The bookshelf's already half empty, with a few stacks of mail and magazines sitting near the bottom. Some of it's got a thin layer of dust on the surface, just like the windowsills and Galo's desktop computer. It makes sense, Lio guesses, considering how rarely Galo got to see this place— between all his work and perpetual self-sacrifice, this was a rest stop, not a home.

He could relate.

His eyes breeze upwards, past a comic book and plastic robot. Near the top, there's a couple empty frames, and an old plush koi fish.

Lio reaches for it before he knows what he's doing. His fingertips trace over matted terrycloth and cheap plastic eyes, and though the fish has clearly seen better days, it's still got a tag hanging off its fin: Promepolis County Aquarium.

"Oh, that's Matoi," Galo notices, bundling a pair of sweatpants into a laundry pile. "She's uh— you can toss 'er here."

Lio politely walks the stuffed fish over to him instead. "I have bad aim," he lies. "Cute toy, though. Is she yours?"

"Yeah," Galo shrugs, calming back down. "Real old. Deep Thymos lore, y'know?"

"I see," Lio hums. "Is this lore I get to know about, or should I respect your privacy for once?" he smiles, gently brushing a hand against the slope of Galo's forearm.

"I— uh, I mean, if you want? Story behind it's kind of a downer, so I'll save that for another day," he says, puffing out a breath of air. 

Lio must've made a face, though, because Galo quickly lightens up. He steers the plush through the air and presses it up against Lio's forehead, like it's kissing him. "But! Koi fish are super cool. Like, the legend about them, I mean? They spend all their life struggling to fight the current, and once they finally make it upstream, after all that hardship and pure determination?" he pauses, wiggling his eyebrows, "They hit an impassable waterfall."

Lio's voice falls flat. "Inspiring."

"Yeah, it is, 'cuz you know why? Sometimes they keep trying! Sometimes they make it to the top of the falls, and they get rewarded for it." He looks directly at Lio. "They turn into dragons," he says reverently, like he believes it. He lets his hands drop, Matoi in clutch.

The air conditioner clicks as it shuts off on a timer. It's the only sound they hear as Lio's hand glides up to Galo's shoulder, pulling them closer together. He studies the blue of Galo's eyes, honest and open as a clear summer sky. His tiptoes push him upwards, until he presses a gentle kiss against the corner of his mouth. 

Galo stands, stock-still, perfectly quiet— and then he breaks into a satisfied smirk.

"What's that for," he asks, blush rising on his cheeks.

"You're such a dweeb," Lio says, giving him another peck. "You deserve the world, Galo Thymos."

Without any warning, Lio's lifted off his feet, tucked between two extremely sturdy arms. Galo plops them both backwards onto his bed, their combined weight creaking the mattress springs. Lio yelps in surprise, but lets his legs settle around Galo's waist beneath him, dress hem flared and messy.

"I know," Galo says, beaming. "You deserve it too, Lio Fotia."

And then, like it's the only natural thing left to do, Lio leans down and kisses him properly. It's soft and it's warm and it's breathless, and the way Galo sighs against his lips makes his chest light up. His bangs fall down and brush against Galo's cheekbones, which he breaks away to kiss as well— then his forehead, his temples, his jawline.

Galo's hand finds the back of his neck, and pulls him in closer. Lio's tongue peeks out against skin, and leaves a tiny trail of wet kisses against his throat.

"Mmmm," Galo hums, thinking. "You really wanna do this right now?"

" _Please,_ " Lio answers, surprised to hear his own voice break. "If you want to."

Galo guides Lio's chin back up to face him, and he gently bites at his bottom lip. He smiles as he pulls away. "You gonna let me repay you for last time?"

"Depends," Lio teases, trying to regain some decorum. He thinks of thumping bass and wooden bathroom walls— the music in Galo's voice, and the needy sounds drawn out of Galo's throat. Lio wets his lips. "Think you can do as good a job as I did?"

"Better, probably!" Galo huffs, and before Lio can register the movement, he's wrestled sideways and flipped on his back. Galo props himself up by the elbows, leaning over Lio's collarbone with a glint in his eyes. 

Beneath him, long bangs and graceful limbs splayed out like ribbons, Lio lifts a fingertip to Galo's mouth. He runs it over his lips, gently tracing the shape, and when Galo drops his jaw, he presses a thumb down against the edge of his teeth. Carefully, he traces over those too— front to back, just exploring really, before Galo swipes his tongue sideways and _sucks_.

And that breaks the dam.

Lio leans upward to kiss him again, feverishly now. He replaces his hand with his mouth, taking in the taste of Galo's skin and tongue and second-attempt smoothie. He feels Galo pressing into him, breathing against his cheek, playfully pulling back to bite at his lips once more— they mutually giggle every time they pull apart, and they grunt out sharp breaths whenever Galo licks into him, hot and deep and _wanting_.

From there, Galo kisses up to the side of Lio's cheek, just along the soft peach fuzz of his hairline. His hair's still long there, where it frames his face— Galo quietly brushes it aside, before licking against the shell of his ear. Lio barely contains a gasp, trying not to give him the satisfaction of being won over so early.

"Oh, sensitive here?" Galo chuckles softly, with a puff of air against Lio's ear. He nuzzles sideways just enough to kiss the start of his jaw again, just below his tragus, and Lio's arms break out in goosebumps.

"Little bit," Lio sighs, wriggling under Galo's weight. 

"Lotta bit," Galo teases, kissing him there once more, before pulling back in a show of mercy.

"Okay, yeah, lotta bit," Lio huffs, bringing his palms up to squish Galo's cheeks. "You better wipe that smarmy look off your face, Thymos, or so help me—"

"So help you," Galo agrees, slipping away to lick a stripe down his neck. Lio breathes in sharply, running his fingers through the tangle of Galo's still-damp hair, pulling him closer. The dip of Lio's collar gets kissed— innocently at first, then open-mouthed and hot and wet. Galo crosses to the other side, mirroring it. 

"No hickies there," Lio manages to say, between quiet little moans. 

Galo pulls away and pouts. "Yeah, I guess that'd look bad in court, huh."

Lio nods, gently scratching the back of Galo's head. "Other places, though. You can get creative."

Unfortunately, _endearingly_ , Galo pumps his fist in the air, like he's won a marathon. "Hell yeah!" he grins. "Scoot up, gimme your hips."

Lio hesitates. "I— sure."

"I mean, you don't gotta," Galo backtracks, considerately so. He looks down at Lio, lips parted. "Is this too fast? Should I lay off?"

"It's not that," Lio blinks, catching his breath. "Don't laugh, okay?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Galo blinks, confused. Lio fastidiously ignores the way his pulse quickens, and reaches for the zipper on the side of his ribcage. Without any ceremony, he drags it down and slips out of the sundress— peels off the spaghetti straps and bodice, then scoots the whole thing over his shoulders. He wads it up and tosses it near Galo's laundry pile, before _whumping_ back down against the mattress.

The vulnerable feeling he gets is almost nostalgic— it's been years since he's this felt unsure and on-guard in bed. It's exciting, in a dangerous way— though he knows he's more dangerous than Galo could ever hope to be. Still, he feels a familiar heat blooming across his cheeks and his chest, and he's not even _naked_ yet—

"Woah," Galo says, like he's dizzy. He circles a fingertip around Lio's belly button piercing, then up to the hem of his bralette. It tickles, and it turns him on, and he waits for the inevitable teasing— but Galo grins. "You're like, color-coordinated and everything!"

Lio squints. That's not... what he was expecting to hear. "I— am I? Didn't do that on purpose."

"Yeah! Sorta! Green and pink totally match, okay?" He gestures between Lio's underwear and the stone of his piercing, quirking a brow. "What am I supposed to be laughing at?"

"Do you have _eyes_ , Thymos?"

And of course he does, because they're round and bright as the fucking moon right now, but all Galo offers is a low, heady chuckle. He pokes at the ink along Lio's pantyline and grins. "I mean, it's not _that_ bad. Your hand tattoo's worse."

"It's bad, Galo."

"It's very you! It's sorta rad, actually," he smiles, tracing the faded outline of eagle wings; the high handlebars of a motorcycle, the angle of the Harley Davison logo—

Lio gently slaps his hand away. "That doesn't console me in the slightest," he says, horrified to discover he's smiling now too. He lets Galo scoot down between his legs, spreading his thighs just a bit wider for space. Galo leans in to nip at the meat of his hips, and Lio makes a shameful noise in the back of his throat. 

"You know," Galo says, between sadistic little movements, "There's a lot about you I still don't get." He sucks a kiss against his hipbone. "And there's a lot about you I don't think I deserve to know, and that's cool too." He bites at his skin, just a bit, just enough to be playfully painful. "But I promise that I'll never laugh at a damn thing you choose to share with me. You've had enough judgment to last a couple lifetimes, yeah?" He looks up at Lio, kissing just above his pantyline, and Lio _shudders_. 

"Yeah," he manages to say, breathy and light. He lets his eyelids flutter shut, taking in the feeling of Galo's mouth trailing over his skin, leaving careful little hickies and not-so-careful bitemarks. He feels hot breath edging further down his body, across the bridge of fabric on either side of his hips, down to his thighs, which Galo's got a hold on now—

"Shit, Lio, you're so pretty," he remarks, all brightness and sincerity, around the same time Lio hums out _"Fuck me."_

So Galo listens, and hitches Lio's legs up over his shoulders. He mouths at the wet spot on the front of Lio's lacy underwear— grips up at his waist, pulls their bodies closer together. Lio hums contentedly as Galo presses open-mouth kisses all the way down his length; his breath is hot as it hangs over him, asking _how do you want this?_ and _use your words, Fotia_. 

Lio grunts. He arches up enough to angle his arms back, unhook his bralette, and toss it to the floor. He pulls Galo's hands upward, rests them on his naked chest, and says "Eat me out until I stop you."

"Aye aye, captain," Galo laughs— his face fire-engine red— before he thumbs a circle around Lio's nipples and rolls them between his fingertips. Lio gasps, cocking his head back against the mattress; Galo sucks over the fabric of his underwear as he plays with his chest, hands rough and dry. Beneath him, Lio's already hard, and shifts his hips around in desperation. Luckily, Galo takes pity on him, and momentarily removes his hands to help him shimmy out of his underwear. He stares wide-eyed and wolfish, scanning over Lio's naked body, before peeling off his own shirt as well. "Just for the record," he says offhandedly, "I dig being told what to do!"

Lio smirks, welcoming him back between his legs. "Says the guy who never does what he's told," he teases, purring with approval when Galo replaces his hands. He continues massaging his nipples; the swell of his breasts, the muscles around his tired ribcage. He puffs out a laugh against Lio's thighs, before slowly swirling his tongue around the tip of his cock. He nudges it sideways with his cheek, chases after a drip of pre-cum with his tongue, and then takes it in his mouth, making Lio moan out as he sinks all the way down to the base.

_Fuck,_ Lio breathes, curling a hand into Galo's hair. He feels the warmth of his tongue pressing against him, licking what little he has room for, opening his throat for the whole of him. When Galo hums self-approvingly, it sends a jolt of sensation up into his core. Lio holds him there for a moment— open-mouthed and obedient, spilling saliva around him— before he carefully tugs him back, insisting he _move_.

Galo sucks as he slides back to the tip of him, hesitating just to breathe and tongue against his slit. Then he sets a pace for himself that Lio gladly matches, guiding him forward, in and out again, letting his mouth get fucked with gentle urgency. Galo moves a hand toward the cradle of Lio's cunt, softly kneading against the curve of his perineum, tracing his fingers along the sides of it. Between the quiet _ahs_ and _mmms_ that keep escaping Lio's lips, a warmth begins to build in his chest— and not the kind that makes him want to come. 

In that moment, he realizes, he's pleasantly horrified. He's vulnerable, yet he's safe, and he's happy. He trusts Galo, even more than he _wants_ Galo— and that scares him.

He wants him very, very badly.

He trusts him, maybe even unconditionally.

"Actually, Galo," Lio says quietly, staring at the tract lights on the ceiling. He relaxes his grip, and slides a hand down Galo's cheek.

There's a flash of concern on Galo's face when he pulls off Lio's cock. "Yeah. Wassup?" he asks, voice already gritty from effort.

"How would you feel about fucking me," he asks, face hot.

"Uh— thought we were already doin' that?" Galo says, wiping a string of spit off his chin.

"No, I mean—" Lio hesitates, cupping his hands around his face. His voice comes out muffled and mortified. "Like... Do you have a—"

"Oh!" Galo perks up, sitting back on his knees. "Yeah! For sure! I got a couple of 'em, one sec—"

He pushes off the bed with a burst of energy, leaning over to grab at a cardboard box labled **SPIDERS!!! DO NOT OPEN!** (which he promises, cross his heart, does not actually contain spiders). Inside, he digs through a few sweaters and toiletries, before he pulls out a harness, a variety pack of lube, and two neoprene bags— each containing dicks of considerable size. He piles them on the bed for Lio's perusal.

"I like the blue one better than the tan one, but that's just me," he says, giving a weird sort of dancing shrug. Lio guesses he's more antsy than excited, but he doesn't point it out.

"I think I need the smaller one, sorry," Lio chuckles weakly. "I trust that's not a blow to your ego."

Galo pops open the box of lube and slides out a bottle. It looks unused. He squints at the expiration date and gives a thumbs-up. "Naw, I getcha. 'Sall good."

Lio nods, motioning for Galo to come closer. He hooks a finger into his belt loops, gently tugging at the front of his jeans. "You seem nervous."

"Cuz I am," Galo admits. He runs his hands across the back of Lio's freshly-shorn hair, and Lio leans forward to kiss his stomach. 

"We don't have to do this. I won't mind," Lio reassures him, already feeling a little guilty for asking too much.

"No, I want to. Really bad," Galo laughs sheepishly. "But! Even the mighty fall, so I'm probably gonna mess up, okay! I've only done this once," he shrugs, unbuttoning himself. "And that was just a Grindr hookup, so..."

"So...?"

Galo scoots his pants down, and he's unsurprisingly gone commando today. "So I never got any feedback. Or a second date."

With a tender reverent touch, Lio traces a shape into Galo's hips. Then he leans in again, just taking in his scent, really. "Good thing I'll give you both."

A truck passes by outside, and Galo holds his breath. "Will you?"

Sometimes, without meaning to, Lio makes promises he can't keep. It gives people hope, but the obligation hangs over his head like a reaper. Sometimes, the impossibility of it all makes him forge a new path forward— forces him to find a solution, hell or high water. 

He looks up at Galo and offers an honest answer, he thinks— and if it isn't honest, and he's deluding himself, then he'll do everything in his power to make up for it.

"I will."

In a flurry of motion, Galo squeezes him into his arms. "Thank you," he says, hugging Lio close. They spend a simple moment soaking in each other's warmth, and Lio thinks that he could get used to this. It's different than the type of intimacy he's used to— he loves Gueira and Meis, but they don't talk like this. They don't say these things like they mean it. They've never needed to.

Galo lets his attention wander back to Lio's neck, while he uncaps the lube between kisses. He warms it up between his hands, pauses for a distant moment, and then, hands glossy and hovering, he says—

"I love you," eyes downcast. 

He's a stilled, timid stream, so unusually motionless as he waits above Lio's body. They're both stripped down to nothing, breathing hot air and apprehension, and Lio doesn't know what to say.

Galo _stares_ at him, and Lio _doesn't know what to say._

He threads his fingers together across the nape of Galo's neck, and pulls him so close their foreheads touch. He brushes a silent kiss against his lips, so softly that they make no sound when parting.

Thing is, Lio Fotia knows better. He knows that Galo's lonely and hurting. He knows they're caught up in nerves and chemicals and biological responses, and he knows nothing like that ever lasts. He knows that Galo loves too selflessly, and always trusts too foolishly— but hypocrites like Lio could hardly talk. He's just as selfless, certainly as foolish, and always, _excrutiatingly_ hungry for the things he can't have. 

He knows that life has a way of destroying good things and good people, or keeping koi from becoming dragons, as Galo put it. But Lio's stubborn and grateful, a bit of a lunatic, and he's nothing if he's not willing to try again. And again. 

And again.

_Why keep another lunatic from being hungry with him?_

"Galo," he sighs, against the man's quiet mouth. "Hear me out."

Above him, Galo freezes up, laughing nervously to himself. "Oh god. Too soon? Too soon."

"Galo—"

"My bad. It's chill—"

"Galo." Lio grips his face between his sweaty palms, and sternly kisses his nose. "You're fine. It's fine. I don't _not_ love you."

The poor sap looks as though he might cry, or puke. Still, he nods, like he understands. Maybe he does.

Lio's vocal cords constrict. "I could love you. I _want_ to love you. I certainly fucking adore you," he says, voice cracking. "And just because I'm not in love with you yet doesn't mean I won't be in the future."

"I know," Galo says, blowing sharp air out of his nose. "I'm just— like, embarrassed, you know? I've never said that to anyone before, so thanks for not gettin' weird about it, I guess."

They're holding hands before Lio remembers his palms are coated in lube.

"You can say it to me again. It's okay. I like it."

So with a deep breath, Galo does. Like most things that truly scare him, he says it with a confident face and a voice shyer than anyone else gets to hear. He tells Lio he loves him, and tells Lio he's worthy of it, and Lio tries his best to convince Galo of the same. They tangle their limbs together in uncomfortable shapes, but neither seems to mind; when Galo works him open, knuckles slowly dipping in and out of him, Lio melts against his chest with little breaths that beg for _more, please, Galo_.

And harnesses look good on him, Lio thinks, with a foggy brain and a dripping cock— the inside of Galo's taut thighs are coated in his own pre-cum, and Lio gratefully licks long and deep between his folds. He presses his tongue up where he can, dips his fingers in until Galo stops him, and then he's finally pushed over with his back against the pillows.

Galo enters him while whispering up against his cheek— dirty words, tempting promises, warm air and wet tongue circling around his ear again— and Lio's oversensitive, full as he's fucked with a girth much wider than he's used to, and it only takes a moment before he comes with a gasp and a cry and a full-body _shiver_.

With a steady, gentle pace, Galo continues to push into him through his orgasm, humming in encouragement. "That's it," he says, voice sunny and deep. "So good, Lio. I got you." He holds Lio's hips as he thrusts into him, slower and slower, until Lio's pliant and shaking and mouthing _fuck_ and _yes_ and _god_.

It gets dark around them, but for minutes or hours, they don't move. They hold each other close, an unbroken sweaty knotwork, and Lio swears they could merge together like this if they wanted to.

***

> Me: _I'm staying the night._  
>  M: _Big surprise there_  
>  G: _can i eat ur leftovers_  
>  Me: _Dont be rude._  
>  Me: _Sure._  
>  G: _hell ye_

Lio sets his phone down. The hardwood floor is cool against his foot, where it lazily hangs off the bed. Across the hallway, the muffled sound of the shower shuts off, as Galo takes his turn to clean up. Lio's hair is wet and short and different, in the way everything else around him is different.

He tries to decide if that's good, or not.

> M: _Ur attorney called btw_  
>  M: _Nothing bad just gotta fax stuff tomorrow_  
>  Me: _Ok. Ill check it out when I'm home, thank you._  
>  M: _Things will be ok_

Lio stares at his screen, unblinking. He didn't ask. He doesn't want to hear it.

_Thank you_ , he types back, because he should. 

He thinks about _things_ — how okay they are, or how uncomfortable they might be. To his distaste, things are often _okay_ and _uncomfortable_ at the same time. They'll be couch-hopping for a while. They'll be back on foodstamps, if Meis can get approved again. There's a court date set a month from now, and he knows that's only the beginning.

Despite this, they have people who like them, people who love them— and uncomfortably, people who _love_ them. Lio smirks as Galo steps out of the bathroom, completely nude. He wads up a towel— the one he'd just used himself— and tosses it at Galo's butt.

Things could be new and frightening and falling apart around him, and through it all, his blood would boil hotter than lava. He feels the ache in his chest and the soreness in his legs and he knows that he's here for a reason. He can't stop now.

_love u_ , Gueira sends, and it's like he's reading it for the first time again.

He looks at Galo's brilliant smile, only visible with the light of the bathroom shining beind him, and he types back _Love you all too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line about being simultaneously "okay and uncomfortable" comes from _The 12 Hidden Steps Of Making Amends_ by Allen Berger. That concept hit me like a sack of bricks in a good way and I'm never letting go of it.
> 
> I try to write Galo as both emotionally aware and emotionally impulsive which is a really hard combination at times cuz its like. One part poignant intellect and one part childhood neglect and they swirl together in a muddy pool I'm not entirely confident about yet but oops its almost the end of the fic so Im a little late on working that out
> 
> One more chapter! I double-posted so it's up!


	11. 166 Weeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This was a double-update! Go back a chapter if you need to!**

"Y'know, I never would've guessed he could move like that."

"No?"

"I mean, makes sense in retrospect, don't it? You remember all those times he'd spin mop handles like a damn helicopter. Think he took some kinda martial arts or something growin' up?"

"Theater classes, more likely."

Lio takes a sip of water and smiles.

The duo onstage is near-naked, decked out in lycra and body glitter and more sweat than the lights can disguise. Aina goes bug-eyed when Galo fudges a move, dangerously tilting the angle of the stage pole beneath them— but she laughs as he recovers, and together they hold an impressively interlocking pose. They salute the audience with heaving chests and cheery grins, while Lucia shouts for tips with a bucket.

Gueira holds up a dollar. Meis rolls up the event flyer and shouts leery compliments like a blowdart.

Lio rests his elbows against the new blackwood bartop— wet with spilled drinks and melting ice— and considers making Fireman Burlesque a recurring event.

Some things never change, but other things eventually do.

Whether it's coincidence or serendipity, Lio Fotia's motorcycle gets a new paint job from the man he'd met in a halfway-house. He used to have a gig in an auto shop, he'd said, doing custom detail work. His partner, a bartender fired from damn near every casino in Laughlin, Nevada, unlocked the doors to a new bar— his own bar— last month, on the hottest day in August. The central cooling didn't work just yet, but it was heaven enough, he'd said, with beads of sweat dripping down his face.

Their friend, a girl named Thyma who'd met Meis at a community center therapy group, still didn't have the heart to tell Galo why she'd dropped off the face of the planet for a decade. In the long run, it didn't matter, really. She had a master's degree, a record, and a good life ahead of her despite it.

And speaking of Galo— the man currently flexing his biceps onstage, somehow dutifully patient and outrageously arrogant and everything Lio thought he'd hate working with— Galo's doing okay. He's been bright like a fire when people are looking, and quietly fragile when people aren't there; Lio loves him the same, and is prouder than hell for his strength and perseverance.

Three years and two months since the start of their trial, some things haven't changed. There were complicated days in court, more paperwork than any of them thought imaginable, and nervous nights spent worrying about the future. There were setbacks and disappointments, testimonies given against sisters— and people who were never family to begin with. People like Kray Foresight, who used people like Galo Thymos, who foolishly forgave him anyway. 

Lio didn't understand that sort of forgiveness. He only understood second chances in a society that hated him, or refusing to judge a book by its ability to wash dishes (as payback for a very expensive, very stupid accident involving thirty-two motorcycles). He understood that some things never change, but certain people do— like Galo Thymos. 

Maybe even like himself. 

So when they'd worked for three years and two months to afford startup collateral, and finally reopened the doors to their bar— new walls, new location, but the same family and spirit— their life finally seemed to change as much as they had.

The routine onstage ends, and the audience happily drops cash into Lucia's bucket. Varys announces a small intermission, and Galo saunters around people in leather vests who gleefully pay to smack his ass.

"Does he know his act's over?" Meis asks, squinting.

"His act's never over," Lio deadpans, but he's smiling.

Eventually, Galo squeezes his way through the crowd. He marches up to the bar, stands on the rail, and leans over to give Lio a very public kiss. Gueria retches behind them, but Lio warmly takes Galo's face into his hands for another peck.

"Did we look good, or did we look good?"

"Aina looked good," Gueira points out. " _You_ look like you never practiced a day in your life."

"You watch to make sure he actually entered the building when you dropped him off for those pole classes?" Meis teases Lio, while pouring a drink for a customer.

"I think he did a good job," Lio hums, giving Galo a little slap on the cheek. "Almost as good as that thing Lucia and Varys did with the fans."

"Almost?" Galo whines, while Lio rolls his eyes.

"Almost," he reiterates. "New schedule's up, by the way. You can check that out whenever you're not busy being naked for fun."

"For business," Galo corrects earnestly. "Hold up, lemme bounce back and take a look at it."

Lio makes a face at Gueira and Meis, and follows Galo back into his office. It's clean and it's small, lacking the charm of a building that breaks safety codes, but it's his again. He still hasn't finished unpacking the boxes they'd pulled from storage. 

It still doesn't feel real.

Galo snaps a photo of the schedule pinned up to the corkboard. He works at the bar on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays (usually), but next week they've got a dental appointment to consider and a date they've prioritized. Lio knows to make room for those things too, now.

"Looks good to me, Boss," Galo says, tucking his phone into the elastic of his booty shorts. He's still bare-breasted and glittery, with bleeding eyeliner and fallen hair. Under the industrial white office lights, he's a hot fucking mess. Lio reminds himself to counts his lucky stars.

"Cool. I'll make copies for the new hires, then." Lio digs through a box on his desk and pulls out a whiteboard, small and marker-stained. "Much easier than trying to write on this thing."

"Oh, hey!" Galo pipes up, circling his arms around Lio's waist. "My old buddy! Still says I got like, forty-somethin' hours in debt to you," he jokes, pointing at a memo accidentally written in sharpie. It's old and it's permanent, dated before Lio's arrest, and it's ruined an entire corner of the whiteboard.

Lio chuckles, tracing over the words with his fingers. "I think you've more than paid me back, Galo." He reaches for a marker and crosses out the number. "Thanks for your 166 hours of service."

"And .666 of an hour after that!" Galo smiles against his neck. "Don't skimp on me, Fotia."

Lio laughs, like it's the first time he's ever laughed. He twists around in Galo's arms and flicks him on the nose. "Touché. Guess I'll put you on floor mat duty tonight."

"Aw, I was hoping you'd wanna settle it in your Closet Of Vice," Galo teases, licking his finger.

"I'm not paying you to fuck me on the clock, Thymos. I've changed for the better."

"Bullshit," Galo grins, planting a raspberry on Lio's neck, and it's everything they never knew they needed.

Sometimes, things work out. Sometimes, it's worth it to keep going, Lio knows. He's not completely free, he's not financially stable, and he's not without his regrets.

But here, with some guy who walked into his bar and his bike, under the same roof as his unconventional partners and his unconventional family, he knows he's not alone.

They never have to be, for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God that was hard  
> Chapter fics are SO HARD!!! I'm super impressed with the rest of yall and all the cool fics you come up with. I haven't tried to seriously write in like a decade so this was something nice and grounding to come back to. I know it's not like... exactly a plot resolution, but this kind of seeped out of my pay grade when it turned into a criminal law fic instead of a cute bar fic. I'm just here to write about being gay and crying. I hope this was a somewhat fulfilling read nonetheless! Thank you for all your kind words and encouragement, I still dont know what I'm doing, but I had fun doing it.
> 
> Please imagine a Parent Trap-esque credits roll where scenes replay and then freeze with an associated caption describing what each character did after the ending.
> 
> Lucia perfects her burlesque routine and takes to Youtube, making thousands off of AdSense.  
> Varys successfully convinces his cousin to quit Herbalife.  
> Gueira starts homebrewing, and creates a popular series of craft hard liquor that he sells at farmers' markets.  
> Meis jokingly posts a harsh noise album on Bandcamp that reaches cult status.  
> Aina gets twelve girlfriends, gets free therapy, and manages to reinstate BBQ night at the firehouse  
> Galo finally learns what is and isn't a tax write-off.  
> Lio lives happily ever after surrounded by all his friends and family and he's super hot and good at stuff forever.
> 
> The end


End file.
